


When in Doubt

by EnigmaRust



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15974708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnigmaRust/pseuds/EnigmaRust
Summary: I never had friends. Then I did. Guess how that worked out for me.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a story I wrote quite a few years ago--figured I'd post it here for fun! I've only ever posted one other story on here, so if there are any hugely obvious oopsies in formatting it's likely because I'm bad at using the site, so let me know! Thanks, my dudes.

 

 

 

There had been times, many times, where I seriously considered killing myself.

And not the pussy version that so many of the current teenage population have considered to call attention to their painfully normal lives. Just the kind that would end my time in a world that so closely resembled hell that I often wondered how I would even know if I died or not. I certainly had done enough to land me a sure spot in the place, after all. And that didn’t include the day in, day out monotonous task of killing everything in sight, either. I was on the waiting list long before this bastard-ass infection hit.

“Nick, for God’s sake, help me!”

I didn’t stop to think. I just pointed the pistol at the hooded thing that had leapt onto Coach and fired twice. Its head jerked as the bullets burst through its rotting skull, and the body slumped to the side, claws falling motionless, still poised to kill.

Coach pushed the body off of his torso, muttering. The hunter had just managed to tear a new hole in his shirt before I killed it. He pulled the tattered edges of the shirt together, as though they would magically bond back together, before giving up. “Thanks for that, Nick.”

The sound of his voice hinted at sarcasm, since it took me two damn seconds longer then usual to help him. I scowled.

“Coach, do you need a health kit?” Rochelle jogged over, gun slung at her side as she brought the kit from her back.

“Naw, Ro. I need a sewing kit, if anything. Damn hunter tore my shirt.”

“Oh no, not the shirt. Why, oh why didn’t it just rip my intestines out instead!” I said, under my breath.

Rochelle glared at me. “Nick, when we need anything like that, we’ll let you know, don’t worry. That said, I’ll remember this the next time you start whining about getting dirt on your suit.”

She turned away before I could come up with a suitable reply. Thank god, because I didn’t.

The sun beat down on our heads as we walked down the cracked road. I was sweltering in my suitjacket, but I couldn’t take it off. The five thousand dollar suit was the only thing protecting the hundred dollar silk shirt I wore under it. Since the jacket was damaged beyond repair I used it to limit the amount of expensive cloth being bloodstained and ripped to shreds as much as I could.

Ellis took his cap off to wipe his forehead before putting it back on. “Jesus, it’s hot. Hey, Coach, do you ‘member there being a pool or someth’n near here?”

“We don’t have time to fucking swim, Ellis,” I said, checking to see if my pistols were fully loaded. “Even if we did, I wouldn’t fancy getting in a gigantic cesspool filled with dead rotting bodies, which would most likely be the case.”

Ellis looked at me and shook his head. “You’re a bundle of laughs, Nick.”

“You’re a bundle of moron.”

“Thanks Nick.”

“Lord, will you two shut up?” Coach. I opened my mouth to shoot something back, before realizing his request wasn’t without reason. The sound of a woman crying drifted from an empty supermarket.

“Lights off.” Coach whispered. I hadn’t bothered to turn mine on, but Rochelle and Coach both flicked them off in tandem. It seemed strange to have them on during the day, especially with the sun shining obviously above, but Coach and Rochelle were in front. And the two in front were unofficially in charge of shining lights down empty alleys or in abandoned buildings to make sure the coast was clear. The two in back were in charge of making sure nothing could sneak up from behind. I had erred that bit today, letting the hunter get Coach. Then again, so did Ellis, but only because he was busy running ahead, checking out an abandoned red Mustang.

It was times like that where I seriously considered homicide.

“Anyone want to go in there?” I asked in a low voice. I certainly didn’t. I had used up all the ammo in my M16 earlier in the day, forcing me to use duel pistols.

“Not me.” Rochelle said, shuddering.

“Hell no.” Coach said.

“I’ll do it.” Ellis said, grinning.

“ _No one’s_ going in there,” I clarified, continuing to walk. “Ellis, we don’t even need to go _in_ that store. Why in the hell would you want to?”

He shrugged. “Nothin’ exciting’s happening, I’m bored.”

For God’s sake. “No, you’re idiotic.” Ellis had a habit of being “bored” at the most inopportune times. For example, when he threw a Molotov at a Tank that was running the _opposite way._

He adjusted his cap, looking wistfully back at the store. “Aw, come on Nick. If we don’t kill her today, she might turn up at some other time.” He sounded way too eager to be healthy.

“It’s a sitting Witch, she isn’t going anywhere.”

He frowned. Then he sighed. “Alright.” We kept walking. I saw him grin. “ _Nickie_.”

“Piss off, Ellis.”

We continued walking. I considered my options; the pros and cons of going off on my own, taking off in the middle of the night with as many heathkits and boxes of ammo I could carry. The cons of having no one to watch my back, no one to shoot a hunter when it’s ripping my chest apart or a charger that’s pummeling me into mincemeat, to the pros of not having to watch over some _else’s_ back, not having to get read the riot act for not reacting at the speed of light from their clumsy failing to avoid attack, and just generally being on my own.

I looked ahead, at the three people who would have been very close to rock bottom on my list of people I’d prefer to get stuck with day in and day out. I’d go over and over the pros and cons. I think this was what made me stay; I was too busy thinking of how much I wanted to leave to take time and think of any real plan. I walked, glowered and stewed, only pausing to throw out pessimistic and plain assholery remarks to lighten the load in my mind.  The others took it, took it plainly out of self preservation. I was a damn fine shot, and they knew it. I knew it too. I knew it was one, if not only, reason I was still around.

And that was exactly how I liked it.

~~~~~~

The steering wheel felt smooth and well stitched under my hand. Its texture practically read like a sign saying “expensive”. I had gotten the keys from my friend, or rather a person I knew, who just like to be called RK. I hadn’t asked him where he had gotten them in the first place.

“Nickie---“ she whined. My fist tightened on the wheel; I absolutely hated that nickname. “Nickie, I’m hungry, when are we gonna stop to get a li’l somth’n to eat?”

She leaned against me, gripping my arm so tight I wondered if my circulation was being cut off. That was the only reason she was still with me; she wouldn’t get the hell _off._ I couldn’t even remember her name. I couldn’t even remember _asking_ for it.

“You had food at the club.” I said, barely opening my mouth. If I hadn’t been worried about the welfare of the leather seats I would have found a way to push her off long ago. But she had drunk more then her share of tequila shots that night, and I didn’t want any jostling movements causing her to throw up in the car. Or on my suit.

I kept my eyes on the dark road ahead. I hadn’t drunk anything. I didn’t go to the clubs for the drinking. I went for playing pool, and occasional blackjack that the regulars set up on an old bartable. The condition of the gambling community here nearly made me ill. But I took what I could get in this hick town. At least the locals were insultingly easy to play.

I had already done my business in Georgia. I was just waiting for a damn flight out of here. With half the airports closed because of that flu that was going around here, getting a plane to Nevada was proving nearly impossible. The soonest I could get was next week.

“Nickie, I’m not feeling too good,” she muttered next to me.

“Don’t even _think_ about vomiting in this car,” I snapped. “I said I would drive you home, you can hold yourself until then. If you have to, do it into your goddamn dress.”

“Nickie, how come you’re not stay’n over.” She pouted.

I didn’t answer her. She forgot she had asked a question, and continued to lean, half passed out, against me.

My mind wandered away. I did this whenever I was in a place I didn’t want to be. Which meant practically every waking moment. I imagined life the way I wanted it; I was rich. I had a penthouse apartment in New York, or LA, or even freaking Detroit. It didn’t matter where it was, as long as it was mine. I didn’t have to do these damndable jobs for people I despised. I would do them for _myself._

She coughed next to me, and I barely resisted the urge to rip my arm out from her grasp and push her away. In my world, the chicks would _leave_ when I wanted. I exhaled and just concentrated on driving.

An almighty crash and a lurch of the car caused me to slam on the brakes. My head snapped sideways and back, cracking on the top of the door. I swore and pushed her off as I handled the wheel with both hands, just managing to avoid hitting a lightpost. Whatever we hit didn’t come from the front. It felt like we had just been T-boned.

I looked to the side we were hit to see what braindead driver hit us. I was mentally cursing him; whatever damage he caused couldn’t be fixed with insurance since, technically, this wasn’t my car.

I frowned as I looked out the cracked side window. From what I saw, I couldn’t make out the shape of any car, nor any headlights.

The girl was moaning in the seat next to me. I didn’t think she was hurt in any way, which made me nervous all over again about the leather. Which was pretty pointless now, considering the entire side might have been crumpled. By what, though, I had no idea. I reached a hand out to open the door.

A face appeared in my window.

I gave it one good stare, for about two seconds. Then I slammed the car in gear and put my leather shoe down. We shot forward with a scream of the wheels.

“Jesus H Christ.” I said, surprised at the way my voice shook.

There was a bellow like an enraged elephant behind me, and I glanced at the mirror, only to wish I hadn’t. Something big, lopsided, was running after the car. Running fast.

“What the hell is that thing?” I said loudly, pretty much to myself. The girl was pretty much out of commission by now, slumping heavily against the door. I took a corner at fifty miles per hour, practically on two wheels. I glanced in the mirror again to see the thing go straight past, down the road on the same trajectory it had started.

I was breathing heavily, as though I had run the entire way. Whatever that thing in the window was, it wasn’t human.

She moved around in her seat, like she was trying to roll over, and moaned. “You never told me the Savannah was breeding goddamn mutants,” I said, only half kidding. I slowed the car down to only ten over the speed limit.

She moved again. And I felt white hot pain shoot through my arm like lightening.

“ _Fuck!”_ I bellowed. I turned to see the chick on my arm again, though not holding it. Her lips were parted and her teeth biting down through the fabric into my flesh. “ _You crazy bitch!”_ I threw a lopsided punch to her temple, half out of anger and half to get her off. She flew back, and the pain increased; I saw a piece of bloodied fabric and something else clenched between her teeth.

I managed to get the car to stop without crashing, steering with the arm not throbbing with pain. She opened her mouth, the piece of flesh and fabric dropping out as she screamed, an eerily inhuman sound. She flew forwards again, and I saw that her eyes had gone milky white.

I managed to catch her by the throat and deflect her lunge towards the already cracked window. She smacked into it with a hiss, and I saw her head split open. She didn’t even seem to notice, turning towards me again. I punched her with my good arm, catching her in the teeth, which shattered, brittle, under my fist. While she bellowed at this new development, I leaned to the side and opened the glove box with fumbling fingers. She was going for my face, once again, when I pulled back and shot her twice with the pistol I withdrew from the box.

 

The car door opened and I fell out, landing on the cement hard. I got up and staggered from the car, where I could see firsthand the damage done by that running elephant thing. The entire back door was caved in. The dent in the middle looked impossibly like a gigantic fist print.

“What the flying—“ I was cut off by a scream.

I swung my pistol around to face the sound. A woman was running towards me, sprinting as though her life depended on it. Behind her I saw another form, gaining on her. A man. From what I could see his mouth was open and gaping over darkened teeth.

I tightened my hold on the trigger. When the woman passed me, I had a clear view of the pursuer. He was ten feet away when I saw his eyes.

I shot him, once, in the middle of the chest. He staggered, but kept going, eating up the distance between us. I felt my heart race as I took my time with the second shot, leaving only four feet between us when I caught him in the clouded eye. He fell and didn’t get up.

“Oh my god, thank you!” I turned to the woman. She had stopped running, and was looking at me with grateful eyes. She was wearing a purple hat, which was crooked from the wind as she ran.

Her shoulder was bleeding. She noticed me staring at it. “Oh, that guy actually _bit_ me.” She covered the wound with her other hand and winced. “What is going on? I saw other people like this too.”

“Me too,” I said shortly.

“Yeah…” she seemed surprised at my tone. “Well, do’ya want to go to the hospital? We can hide out there, I heard, and I can—oh, you too—“ she noticed my own bleeding arm. “—we can both get patched up…” She coughed.

“Yeah, I suppose.” I didn’t actually plan on going to the hospital. The less I stayed out of the public amenities, the better. But the hospital was only right down the street, and I could drop this chick off. I didn’t want her calling the cops on me leaving her on the side of the road.

“Let’s go,” I called, starting towards the smoking Mercedes. I’d have to get the crazy biting bitch out of the seat first. I don’t think she’d mind being left at the side of the road.

I heard a rattling breath behind me. I stopped, and slowly turned around. The woman looked at me, and to my growing horror I saw her eyes dull and whiten before my own.   

She leaped at me, and with a move so fast I surprised myself I brought the gun up and cut her down in mid air. Her hat blew off as the bullet ripped through the other side of her skull.

I breathed heavily, looking down at the third person I had killed tonight. Her shoulder was still trickling a thin line of blood. I walked over to the man that lay crumpled on the asphalt, and turned him over with my foot. Apart from the two bullet wounds on his chest and head, I saw a crescent shaped perforation on his hand.

There was only one bullet left in the gun. I walked towards the car, planning on pushing the first body out and locking the doors. There weren’t any other bullets in the car, I knew. But I was certain, as I felt the blood continue to stream from my upper arm, that I would have to use the last one I had on myself.

~~~~~

That had been the first time I had to consider suicide, when it had been almost mandatory. The others were mainly perfunctory, an option to escape.

“We’re almost at the safehouse, y’all,” Coach announced. He was consulting a tattered map, ones that we found occasionally on the road, in cars, on dead bodies. They labeled all the safezones available to the public. Unfortunately, most weren’t able to stay uninfected long enough to reach them.

We’d been traveling for a few weeks at that point. We were actually starting to understand each others methods, a little. It made it easier for us to synchronize, even work together at some points. I had by now stopped trying to figure out ways to leave. I had seen enough of this world to know I wouldn’t last a day, hell, an _hour_ on my own. Whether I liked it or not, this was the one time I needed help.

“Thank God,” Rochelle sighed. “My feet are killing me.”

“You should thank God that it’s only your feet that are killing you.”

“Shut up, Nick.” She ran her hand through the braids that had come undone from the ponytail. “What _I_ would kill for is a shower.”

“So would I.”

“Kill for a shower?”

“No, kill for _you_ to have a shower.”

She glared at me. I made an _I was only kidding, Jesus_ face. And I was. Mostly.

Believe it or not, Rochelle was one of the few women that I looked on as being on my level. I’m not putting women below me, in general. Just the ones I had usually associated with before the infection. And I was betting that if they weren’t dead or infected, they were going to be. I doubted that they even knew the barrel end of a gun.

“I see the safe house!” Ellis yelled. Since we were all within a ten foot radius, there was absolutely no reason to go above normal tones. This was just Ellis.

I saw the red door in the distance, from what could gather the building used to be a small post office. Now the doors and windows were barred, the walls reinforced, and the insides stocked with as much food as they could. The best safehouses always were the ones that used to be grocery stores, however there was one that had been a warehouse filled with new mattresses, where we all had a decent place to sleep for once. And then there was that one memorable night where we stayed in an old adult movie store. Ellis spent the whole night blushing and trying not to look at the walls. I spent the whole night laughing at him and looking at the walls.

We jogged the rest of the way there. By some stroke of luck, there weren’t any zombies on the way. We got to the metal door in once piece, though Coach was huffing and puffing from the hundred foot jog. Ellis pushed it open, and I tensed the hold on my guns. The lack of zombies we had just experienced made me wonder if there would be a random Tank waiting for us in the saferoom, just to keep things normal. However, the room was empty.

Ellis yawned hugely and threw down his rifle. “Damn, I’m hungry. Doya think there’s much food in here?” He walked over to the piles of different essentials and started to root through them.

“Boy, you ate practically that _entire box_ of Lucky Charms that you found in that store today.” Coach said, looking at him incredulously. “How in the Lords name are you still hungry?”

“Aw man, those things are basically all marshmallow,” Ellis’s voice was muffled as he dug through a pile of boxes. “And marshmallows are basically all air. Shit, yes!” He withdrew, holding a box of—

“Noodles?” Rochelle asked, raising her eyebrows as she patched up a cut on her forearm. She had settled herself on the ground after locking the door with the thick metal bar.

“Yeah!” Ellis said happily. He thumped the box down and ripped the top off. “I used t’have these all the time when I was a kid. All you do is add hot water and you’re in for the meal of a lifetime!”

“Meal of a lifetime.” I repeated deadpan.

“Figuratively speaking, Nick.”

“Where the hell are we going to get hot water, Overalls?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. I didn’t trust the floor until I absolutely had to.

Ellis sagged, looking stumped. He glanced at the box, looking incredibly disappointed.

For some reason, that look made me take a second glance around, searching for some way to make hot water. “I mean, unless we made a fire or something.”

“A fire?” Rochelle looked doubtful. “From what?”

“Hey, there’s a bunch of empty crates over there.” Coach pointed. “They’re made of wood. We can make a fire out of that.”

“Won’t that fill the room with smoke?” I said, already regretting my idea.

“No, look.” Coach pointed to the vents in the ceiling and walls. “I’m in for it. We haven’t had a hot meal in weeks.”

“There’s some instant coffee and stuff here, too!” Rochelle called, looking in the rest of the boxes.

Well, as long as there was coffee. I sighed loudly, but helped Coach pull apart the boards and make the fire. It spitted and didn’t generate much of a flame, but it did heat the water in a bucket enough to soften the noodles.

And you know what, they weren’t damn bad.

 

 

I rolled over on the concrete ground, seeing if it was any less uncomfortable on my side. Nope. Still a pain in every single ass known to man.

I turned on my back again, sighing. My head was resting on a flat cardboard box folded a couple of times. My only source of warmth was my jacket. For a southern state, the place got witches-tit cold at night.

Ellis sniffed in his sleep, rolled over and smacked his head on the wall. I heard him swear softly, still asleep. I couldn’t keep a small grin off my face. It was fleeting, however. I rubbed the stubble on my chin and yawned.

~~~~~

There were screams everywhere. I slowed the car down to a crawl to avoid killing anyone else. After a night of sweating with the loaded gun in my lap, I could only assume that the venom, bacteria, whatever was in the bite didn’t go deep enough. I felt relieved then. But now, as I looked around, I wondered if it wasn’t better if I didn’t survive the bite.

A person slammed onto my windshield. I leaned back in my seat, as far away from it as I could, as it started to slap the glass and screech at me, its eyes white and wild. Foam flecked from its bared teeth as it scrabbled uselessly at the windscreen. I flicked on the wipers, purely to get its attention diverted. Feeling the wipers hit its side, the infected human tried to yank it off. Unsuccessful, it had no choice but to slide off the car.

I tried to go forward again, but there just wasn’t any way. People, uninfected people, were running against the car, towards an unknown destination. I considered my options. Sit here, wait until everyone left, and try to get somewhere, or get out and go with the flow.

I swore under my breath. As crazy as it seemed to me, I knew I had to get out. I had no idea where to go, but apparently these people did. And, even if there were more infected, if I stayed in the middle of the crowd there would be a lesser chance of getting attacked myself.

_Plus_ , I thought, checking the gas gauge, _I’m practically running on fumes._

I was nearly bowled right over the moment I left the car. Knowing I could do nothing but follow, I started to run. I found myself along stride with a scraggly guy in a cap, put on backwards.

“Where the hell is everyone going?” I huffed, getting sideswiped by a big guy in trackpants.

“There’s ‘parently an evac station on top of the hotel!” he called back. He took another glance at me. “What’s with the suit, Bud? You getting married or someth’n?” The guy had somehow managed to give me a once-over while we were running for our lives.

I glared at him as much as I could without tripping over my feet. “Screw off. I happened to be the only decently dressed person in this hellhole.”

“That’s cool, man.” He continued to look forward, without glancing at me anymore. Good.

A defining bellow, the enraged moose noise ahead caused me to halt in my tracks. Scragglehat stopped too, apparently under the impression that we were sort of together. I would have told him to go away if I hadn’t been transfixed with the sight in front of me.

The thing, the monster. It had once been human.

It was much larger then a human man, but the shape was humanoid. The only massive difference was the right arm. It was swollen, gigantic, with a fist the size of a tire. And that tire sized fist was in the process of grabbing another man, an uninfected, bodily off the ground. And, as though sensing our doubts that it could get any worse, the thing started to slam the man into the ground, again, and again, and again.

The man was trying to choke out yells through the massive pressure probably being inflicted on his torso, and the slams against the ground.

“Oh God!” Scragglehat screamed. “Someone shoot it!”

I fumbled with my pistol, raising it. I was close enough to get a good shot at its body, enough to maybe make him drop the man. The last bullet.

Suddenly, visions exploded in my brain. That thing had me. It was slamming me against the concrete. I imagined myself lifting my gun and pulling the trigger desperately, only hearing a click.

I lowered the gun.

“What are you doing?” Scragglehat demanded. “Shoot the damn thing!”

“Out of bullets,” I lied deadpan.

There was a _rattatat tat._ I jumped, and saw three policemen with their own guns out, shooting the monster. It roared one last time before falling forwards, nearly crushing the man in its grasp. The cops darted forward and began to yank at the colossal fingers, getting the man out.

I pocketed my weapon and continued to jog at a brisk pace. I could feel Scragglehat’s eyes boring into the back of my head.

We ran for what seemed like hours, but in reality it was only a few minutes later when Scragglehat gasped out, “There’s the hotel.”

I squinted ahead, breathing heavily myself. The hotel seemed to be swarming with crowds, fighting to get inside. “Where’s the point?”

“Prob—probably at th’ top.”

I shot him a sideways stare. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

There was a frighteningly familiar noise behind me. The guy had started to reply, but I didn’t hear. I was too busy being tackled to the ground.

I was staring into sightless eyes, half hidden under a blue hood. The infected creature snarled at me, raised an arm, and brought it down with a brutal swipe. I felt my chest open up.

The thing continued to claw at me, ripping my skin. Through a haze of pain and panic I pulled out the gun. Fired. Missed.

The thing was about to claw again when its head jerked to the side with a sickening crack, its body following. Using this precious second I shoved it off, feeling the wounds in my chest sear. I looked up and saw Scragglehat continue to beat the creature over the head using a broken pipe he had somehow magicked out of thin air.

The thing was dead. Scragglehat let the pipe fall slack at his side as he stared at me. “Thought it wasn’t loaded.”

I glared back, not answering. I wasn’t one to give excuses.

He sighed. “I got to go, man. Good luck.” Without a second glance back, he turned and booked it, towards the hotel.

I pressed a hand to the wounds on my chest as I struggled to my feet. They didn’t feel fatally deep, but they weren’t shallow either. If this was a normal day I would have gotten someone to give me stitches. Today, they were just going to have to bleed. I stumbled forwards, feeling woozy before regaining my balance again. I jogged lightly, not wanting to jar the wounds too badly. There weren’t many people around, mostly the slow ones that were still faster than me.

I somehow was able to get in the building and to the elevators. The place was filled with smoke, from what I hadn’t the slightest. I jammed my thumb on the button “up”. Door opened. I got in, pressed the button for the topmost floor.

For the first time in a while it was completely silent and safe. I used this time to thoroughly check the wounds on my chest. Most of them were light scratches, but one swipe had gone in deep, leaving three heavy lacerations. I scowled at it. Of course, the blood had gotten both on my shirt, which miraculously didn’t get torn from the claws, and the suitjacket. Blood on cloth. One of the hardest damn things to wash out.

With a _ping_ the door opened. To more smoke. Perfect.

Coughing, I ran the last length to another set of stairs. Up the stairs. By now my legs were shaking with fatigue. I burst through the door, and the sun’s rays hit my face, causing me to squint.

The helicopter. Already in the air. To my dismay, I saw more in the distance, getting smaller. The last one was flying away.

“Come back! _Come back!”_ I heard a deep voice shout. “Aw, he ain’t coming back.”

And there was where I met three others who had been too damn slow. A big black guy, a smaller black chick and a classic hick. Wearing a hat. My God, did everyone I meet wear hats to spite me? His was worn properly, thank God. But it didn’t quite quench the urge to shoot it off his head and burn it.

~~~~~

The place was filled with the sounds of the others sleeping. In a surprising discovery I found I could pick out each person by sound. Coach was the loud guttural snore, sometimes broken by incoherent mutterings. Rochelle was the light breathing, usually obscured by Coaches snore. Ellis didn’t snore, but he rolled a lot, so he always made shuffling sounds as he moved across the ground. Sometimes I’d wake up and he was halfway across the room from where he fell asleep. I asked him once how he functioned in a bed when he actually had one. This was after he’d rolled onto my jacket during a night I took it off, resulting in a gigantic crease all day. He shrugged and said he always had to have about ten pillows bracing him to prevent him falling out. I then gave the suggestion that I’d put him on a carpet and see if he would roll himself up in it and die during the night. Ellis had frowned and didn’t reply.

There was a gentle scraping on the metal door, followed by a low growl. Probably a common, smelling the live flesh. They got quieter at night, thank God, as though they had retained the human nature of sleeping, if not anything else. They didn’t actually sleep, though. I looked out once and saw that they just lowered to wandering aimlessly, bumping into each other and moaning. Occasionally vomiting up chunks of their own brethren, whom they seemed to gnaw on more than they did the uninfected.

I adjusted my shoulder blades on the freezing ground. If I stayed in a single position for long enough, the cement was sometimes able to retain enough heat for me to forget how fucking cold I was for a few minutes. Of course, being still for that long also made single points of my body ache at increasing levels, so I eventually had to move. So it was either be in pain or be cold. I think I still somehow managed to do both.

I stared at the ceiling, at the water stains that darkened certain parts. Someone had managed to write something up there, how they managed I didn’t know nor did I care. When I squinted I could just barely read what it said.

_When in doubt, look up._

I snorted softly. When in doubt, search your pockets and pray to God you have another clip for your gun. That’s what I would have written.

~~~~~

Rochelle pressed the map against the wall of a building, vainly trying to keep it from flapping in the brisk wind. “It’s still a couple of miles from the next decent safehouse.”

“Any little ones on the way?” Ellis asked, squinting ahead. “Little ones” were the safehouses that did little more than offer a place where you could sit for a few minutes to catch your breath or patch up a wound. They usually weren’t any bigger than a small shed, and almost defiantly did not contain any food or medical supplies. However, sometimes it was worth it to have a bunch of those then one big room for an entire day before you got to your destination. They’d saved our asses more times than I could count.  

Rochelle trailed her finger along the route we’d take. “Doesn’t look like it. We’re going to have to hustle.”

We set off at a fast pace, just under a jog. I knew that Ellis, I and probably Rochelle could have run the way easily, but Coach’s leg and general stamina kind of ruled that option out. However, out of us four I haven’t seen anyone but Coach kill ten commons and a special on melee alone in under a minute, so I didn’t complain. Much.

We’d been traveling together for about a month and a half. I actually didn’t know the exact date, the days seemed to melt together. Just one long continuous stretch of time, of events, of hell. Well, hell at a distance. We managed to hold ourselves just up from it, so it was like looking through a window. A breakable window, but a shield none the less. I was surprised to find that I didn’t long to be on my own anymore. Most of the reason being that I knew I wouldn’t be able to survive. But there was a small part of me, sometimes, that stayed because…well, it’d take me quite a while to get used to different people. And I wasn’t lucky enough to find others who’d want to stick with _me_ , even for survival reasons. I’m still shocked I did the first time.

The sun was up and at full force. Before long I was cursing my jacket, the people that sewed it, and the cotton plants that made it in the first place. But I still didn’t hate it enough to take it off. “Let’s take five in that store,” I suggested, struggling to keep my voice cool, and not betray how completely swamped I was at the moment.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Coach gasped, running an arm across his shining forehead. “And t’think I once loved the Savannah sun.”

“Aw, man, it isn’t so bad.” Ellis said, smiling a bit while pulling at the brim of his cap, looking up into the blue. “They say is good for you to sweat a bit; gets the salt out.”

“Says you, Mr. Cap and T-shirt.” Coach grumbled, turning into the cool relief of the store I had motioned to. Ellis pulled at his hat again, looking a bit confused. I shook my head.

Inside was shiny. I walked along the tables, staring at the electronic devices that covered every inch. Cameras and phones, TV’s and DVD players…it’d be a great place to steal from, if the items hadn’t been rendered completely useless nowadays. I picked up an IPad, turning it over in my hand, thinking how any man in this time would trade ten of these for a single clip of ammo, or hell, a pack of cigarettes. I checked the price. Eight hundred bucks. Eight hundred bucks worth of debris useful only to throw at a zombie as a distraction.

Coach slumped down a wall. His gun was rested on his knees; ready at a moment’s notice to fire at any unexpected head, but I could see his eyes close. I kept an eye on the door as I wandered around. Rochelle was rummaging behind the service counter. Probably searching for anything of use, maybe some food, or even a gun. This _was_ an electronics store, after all. Ellis seemed to be doing the same thing as me; though he was checking out the computers.

He stopped by a small laptop. “Hey, I used to have one like this!” He brushed his fingers along the keys. “I remember a time my buddy Keith made a website, just out of th’ blue. He was pretty good on computers, I guess, I never really found out much about them other then what not to click. Anyway, he made this video site called _Keith_ tube. And he put all the videos we made on it, all the times we caught on tape what we did, like the time he tried to deep fry a turkey—“

“Ellis. Seriously. Not now. Call me crazy, but I really don’t want to know how that one ends.” Rochelle’s voice was muffled behind the counter. 

“Okay.” Ellis took his hat off and rubbed the curly hair underneath, sighing. Absentmindedly he pressed the on button of the computer. To my surprise, the computer flashed its brand, before going to its desktop screen.

“Wow, it works,” I said brilliantly.

Ellis grinned widely and knelt down. “See, Nick, I’m useful sometimes.”

“ _Sometimes,_ Overalls. By that I mean like, once every millennium. And that’s if you’re lucky.”

Ellis gave me a look that was his version of throwing me the finger. I chuckled and walked over, checking out the laptop. Ellis used the touchpad to doubleclick the internet.

“Ellis, it’s the freaking apocalypse. Somehow I don’t think they’d use their precious time to keep online porn sites going.” I paused. “Or maybe they would.”

Ellis shook his head. “Nick, you now are not getting this computer.” To my even bigger surprise, the Google homepage popped up. “And yeah, the internet still works, I guess. Haven’t you ever thought of what it is? There’s so damn much of it, there really isn’t a way of keeping it going if it didn’t power itself. It’s just kinda like…space, I guess. There just won’t be any new uploads or anyth’n.”

I stared. He gave me a smug smile, the little bastard, and started typing. “Ellis, what are you doing. We don’t have time for you to check Fuckbook or whatever it’s called. We got to get going. Also, look up some porn.”

Ellis laughed, and I grinned before I could stop myself. “Jeez, no Nick, there are ladies present.”

“Ladies who are conveniently out of view under a desk.”

“I hear what you guys are talking about, you know!” Rochelle’s voice rang out. “Ellis, keep Nick away from the computer.”

“Ellis, you heard what she said. She said give Nick the computer.”

“She totally didn’t.”

“She really did.”

“I actually didn’t.” Rochelle called.

Ellis sniggered as he clicked away. I grumbled under my breath as I glanced at the screen. “What are you looking up, then?”

He stared intently at the screen. “I’m just seeing if anyone managed to get some sort of message out online. Like, maybe someone was able to put up a site saying where the evac points are.”

I rubbed the stubble on my chin. “That’s…actually, not a bad thought. Okay, Ellis, you get two this millennium.”

“Gee, thanks Nick. You’re a pal.”

Ellis searched for about ten minutes before pushing the laptop away, looking disgruntled. I was leaning against one of the tables. “No luck?”

“Nah. Even if someone put a site up, there’s the chance that it’s damn near impossible to find, since you need views or something to get it at the top of the search string list thing.”

“Does it matter that the only people who are even _able_ to get on the internet these days are looking this up?”

He glanced at me with an exasperated look. “Well, I dunno Nick. Maybe they’re all looking up porn.”

I grinned, though I noted his mood. Ellis usually didn’t get this way unless he was truly disappointed. I guess it was understandable; now that I thought about it, we really didn’t have a solid plan to begin with. We were heading north purely for the reason that the virus was hypothesized not to survive well in the cold. We really tried not to think too hard about the fact that we’d practically have to walk to Canada before this theory would even have an effect. If we found something that could make a change soon, that would actually give us a shot at surviving, that would be a plan worth following.

I thought hard. This computer had to be worth something. I never really had time for them myself, but I knew enough to go by.

“Hey, Ellis. Go to Youtube.”

He picked at the brim of his cap. “Why?”

“Because I want to look up a music video of that Bieber prick. Ellis, just look the damn thing up.”       

He tapped at the keys. “Nick, I think I know where you’re coming from, but I don’t think people are able to upload videos. They gotta go through administrators or something beforehand.”

“Search for the news video clip on the virus.”

“Nick, that’s _before_ this got out of hand, anything they got’ll be worth jack shit now!”

I sighed. “Ellis, just look it up for Christ sake. I’m couldn’t care less about the video. I want to see the comments.”

Ellis finally got to the video without another word. He scrolled down to the comments. He read a couple, and I saw a wide smile light up his face. “I’ll be damned. Good thinking Nickie.”

“I always have good thinking. The problem is no one ever listens.”

The comments were coming in at lightning speed. ‘ _Vickie at Brooks Point, AL, looking for Stephen Bumseko!! Meet at the North Mall evac point!’ ‘The next New York evacuation will happen on Tuesday at noon, meet in CP at the zoo’ ‘If anyone lost a little girl named Clara Garett, she’s fine, we’ll be at the next evac in Oregon’ ‘www.worldevacuation.net <\-- here’s the site!! Thumbs up so everyone can see!!’_

Ellis clicked on the site. He whistled a bit. “I sure hope this thing's legit.” He started clicking. “It looks pretty okay.”

“When’s the next evac for Georgia?” I asked, impatient.

“Hold your horses, Nick. Okay, here it is.”

Suddenly I heard someone come up behind me. I turned to see Ro, a smile on her face as she looked at the screen. “Next one says it’s at Rickman Centre on Wednesday the eighth. That’s not far at all!”

I searched my brain, thinking of the map. “It has to be at least a hundred and fifty miles, Ro.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “I was comparing it to the distance we’d have to walk to get to Canada.”

“Ah.”

Ellis closed the laptop with a snap. “Well, as my friend Dave used to say, when in doubt, look it up.” He grinned. “I’m ready to rock! Let’s get going!” He cocked his rifle, the shells pattering on the ground.

There was a loud snort from across the room, and I looked up to see Coach wake with a start. He clenched his gun and looked around, as if expecting to be surrounded by zombies. Seeing only us, he relaxed, and struggled to his feet.

“Nice nap, Coach?” I asked.

“Boy, I wasn’t napping, I was resting my eyes. We goin’ or what?”

“I must say, Coach, you make some _strange_ sounds when you’re resting your eyes,” Rochelle said, raising her eyebrows at the older man.

“Like a moose,” Ellis put in helpfully.

“Ellis, you give me lip like that again and I’ll smack you so hard you’ll be quipping from your ear.”

By this time they were all laughing as we walked out of the store. Even I was hiding a smile. My usual stone-faced façade was really taking a beating recently; I’d actually caught myself laughing more than once at one of Ellis’s stupid stories, or at Coach’s bad puns. Usually I’m able to cover it up with a cough or a wipe with my sleeve, but I get the inkling that Rochelle has seen me crack once or twice.

We were walking along a different route now; one that would lead us to Rickman center. We had filled Coach in along the way, him having missed most of the conversation while he was ‘resting his eyes’. He seemed a bit doubtful, but willing to go along. Like me, he hadn’t been into computers all that much before, and didn’t hold much faith to anonymous information by a person who might not even be alive anymore. But he, like the rest of us, was taking what we could get.

 

 

“Hey, here’s a question,” Ellis said suddenly. He fired his shotgun at a lumbering Infected, the side of its ribcage exploding. Cocking it, he rested it in its normal place on his shoulder. “What did y’all do before this apocalypse shit happened?”

“Ellis, we already talked about that,” I said, reloading my gun. “I was nearly killed twice by a Charger and three times by a hunter, Coach was fighting off Commons in a Safeway with a Swiffer Wetjet and Rochelle was babysitting a kid until he tried to rip her face off.”

“Not what we were doing when it hit,” Ellis argued. “What we’re you _doing?_ Like, as jobs?”

“Ellis…is now really the time to talk about things like that?” Rochelle said tiredly. “Not exactly an uplifting conversation.”

“Pardon my saying so, ma’am, but there really wouldn’t ever be a _good_ time…plus, you know…never know when it’ll be too late to talk about it…” He cleared his throat.

There was a slightly awkward silence after that statement. He was right, of course. Any of the days we walked could be the last, for one or all of us. And every night we all survived to, I think we all marveled at the fact that we were still breathing. I know I did.

“Well, I think I’m pretty obvious,” Coach said suddenly, thankfully breaking the silence. “I was a football coach at a highschool.”

“What grade?” Rochelle asked, I knew for the sheer reason of keeping the conversation going.

“Any grade. It wasn’t a big school, they had all the kids try out.” Coach’s voice was lighthearted, but there was an undertone of sadness. I know what he was thinking. All those kids were either dead or wanted to be. “That team was absolutely the worst in the whole area. But I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts they were the happiest, the kindest, and the most sportsmanlike.” He chuckled. “Don’t know if it was the cause or the effect of our performance on the field. But damn, we had some good times.”

We were walking along a stretch of road with cars parked every inch of the way. I kept my gun low, making sure to cut off any infected should they be hiding under the wheels. There was a horking noise and a splat, and suddenly I felt pinpricks of white hot pain on the back of my hand.

“ _Spitter!”_ I shouted. We simultaneously backtracked, the pool of neon green acid pooling out, cracking the pavement and following our feet like it was attached with a length of string. A _bang_ echoed across the road; Rochelle had taken a shot at the Spitter, who had made its appearance around a semi-trailer. Her shot hit the Spitter in the shoulder and it stumbled, its jaw dangling grotesquely. Coach stepped forward with his crowbar; with a sickening crunch he brought it around its head, taking it cleanly off.

“I was a reporter,” Rochelle said, continuing the conversation as if nothing had interrupted it. “Or, at least, I wanted to be. I was getting my first big break, the story that’d shape my career…until this happened. Though I guess in all fairness, without this I wouldn’t have gotten the story in the first place.” She laughed hollowly.

A few commons came running at us, snarling. I got three headshots in a row, bringing a fourth down with the stalk of the gun. Before it died it gave me a bit of a goodbye present; another bite on my wrist. I shook it off, hissing in pain.

“Got bitten?” Ellis asked me, loping over. I nodded, grimacing as I pulled a rotted tooth out from under the torn skin. “Need any bandages?”

“No, I’m good.” The bite wasn’t deep; there wasn’t any flesh ripped off, at least. I wasn’t going to waste bandages on a papercut. I pressed my fingers at the deepest cut, trying to stem the flow until it scabbed over.

“Reminds me of the time Keith cut himself on a bit of metal at the garage.” Ellis remarked. “Didn’t get any stitches or anythin’. That could have been why he got that little bit of gangrene, I don’t know—“

“ _Could_ have been?”

“Anyway, that’s what I did before all this.”

“Had gangrene?”

Ellis ignored me. “I worked at a garage. With Keith. We fixed cars, cleaned cars…made pretty good money, since no one seemed to know what they were doing ‘round where I lived. I had it pretty good. Lived in a place with my sister, we’d go to Ma’s every Sunday…”

“Why were you living with your sister?” I asked. Well, I interrupted. But for me, at least it was showing I was paying attention at all.

A male common scrambled forward, screeching like a cat. Ellis watched it come towards him until it was right in his face before smashing it over the head with the butt of his gun. He shrugged. “Her and my dad didn’t get along too well.” The zombie fell, dead. I saw that his head was entirely caved in on one side, obviously overkilled.

We walked on in silence for a while after that. I kept my eyes on the zombies, but every so often I’d flick my glance on Ellis, who was on my right. He seemed deep in thought, though his cap was pulled down to cover his eyes. I frowned as I turned back to pop off a female infected who was leaping for my face. It was new that Ellis would drop a subject without being asked. The amount of times he’s actually trailed off was equal to how many times I’ve actually showed interest. And while they would seem to be on opposite ends of the scale, Ellis manages to defy all odds and keep them hovering at the exact same rate. To save time and energy, I’ll just round it off to zero.

“What about you, Nick?” Ellis said, after that lengthy pause.

I caught a wandering zombie off guard from thirty feet away with a bullet to the shin, and I saw it crumple with a screech. I smirked in satisfaction. Then I turned to Ellis, forgetting he had addressed me. “What?”

“What did you do before all this?” He gestured to the sky with his gun.

Shit. Should have seen this coming. “Why is this important?”

He shrugged. “It isn’t, really, Nick. But we all said our bit, so you should put your two cents in.”

“I don’t know why you guys giving speeches on your past lives commit me to have to do it. I was barely even listening,” I lied, for the last part anyway.

“Nick, don’t be a—“ Rochelle paused. “You know, I never realized how many things rhyme with your name.”

I didn’t retort. I would be the better man.

“So, Nick?” Ellis persisted. God damn him.

“I didn’t have a family, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, irritated.

“Oh.” Ellis left many things unsaid. Good for him. “What about a…job?”

“Didn’t have that, either.”

“Oh.”

“How’d you get those fancy threads then, son?” Coach spoke up.

Jesus, what was this? The moment Nick says a word, its cue for everyone to ask fucking questions? “These are the kind of things I’d rather not talk about, if that’s fine with you,” I said shortly.

“Alright, that’s cool.” Ellis didn’t push it any farther.

We walked on in more silence for a while. I ran out of bullets before long and was forced to use the ax I had strapped to my back. In a way, I almost relished it, using brute force. More personal. Every stroke I brought down was a little steam escaping from the vent of this hellhole the world had become.

~~~~~

I slammed the bar down across the two handles of the metal door, just as the mass of infected bodies smashed into it. Their bellows of neandritholic anger practically shook the door on its hinges.

The other three were in the room, and every one of them looked to be on a borderline collapse. We had just spent over twelve hours half walking, half jogging as we fought through a town that seemed to have housed the entire population of Georgia. A town that also apparently Olympic trained their citizens and consumed nothing but energy drinks and steak. The only reason we had even gotten to the safehouse was that Ellis had managed to shoot the pump at a gas station as we ran by. And the only reason we survived _that_ was because Coach and I had the shred of sense to pull the other two straight into a muck filled ditch at the side of the road the second before it blew up, effectively destroying about half a street.

“That…was… _intense,”_ Ellis gasped, as he tried to pull a breath. I saw him press a hand against his ribs and grimace, and I frowned. When I yanked him into the ditch I think he’d landed on his side. He hadn’t said anything at the time, but now I wondered if it had cracked a rib or two.

I limped over. “Do you need a kit?” I asked. I was slowly getting my breath back, which was more than could be said for Coach. He was practically contracting asthma, slumped over in the corner.

Ellis straightened up, and made another face, before opening his eyes and grinning weakly. “Nah, thanks Nick. Don’t think there’s anything in that kit that can fix this. Just gotta let it heal some.” He stretched, with a bit of a yelp.

“Nick, do _you_ need a kit? You’re bleeding pretty hard on your arm.” Ro said, sounding a bit alarmed.

I frowned and glanced at my arm. Sure enough, the fabric was bright red. I sighed. As the days and eventual weeks went past, I’d pretty much given up on my shirt. By now it was so sweat and blood-soaked it had turned more of a purplish brown then the original blue. I’d made a point to look at it as little as humanly possible. In all honesty, I think the jacket has fared slightly better considering the circumstances. But I don’t look at it, either.

I pressed a wad of paper towel that I’d found on a counter against the wound, and it bit back with pain. “No, I’m good.”

Rochelle shook her head at me. “Nick, what _would_ you use a kit for? I swear you haven’t dipped into one since this entire thing started.” She started unpacking and repacking our kits, sorting out the supplies evenly. Her breathing had been a bit strained though the day, but all in all she’d fared pretty well, suffering only from some superficial scratches from a feisty common before driving the end of her crowbar into its eye.

I snorted. “Maybe it’s just a sign that I’m better at not getting hurt then you guys are.”

“Or maybe it’s a sign that you’re a moron,” she shot back.

I gave her a look of condescending aloofness. It was the only thing that kept a grin off my face.

Coach moaned something indecipherable from his corner, apparently unable to form human words yet. There wasn’t anything dreadfully injured about him; aside from reaching the absolute limit of his physical exhaustion he’d received a hard hit to the temple from a charger’s fist, though it’d just grazed him. He’d been rendered dizzy for a few moments, but recovered enough to send a belly full of buckshot to the bellowing charger, who’d only just realize he’d missed and was just beginning to turn back for another round.

The sounds of the common at the door began to fade into the background as we settled for the night. The safehouse we’d gotten to was, unfortunately, not one of the ones meant for an extended stay. Not having water or food was almost a given, but it also lacked any amenities like a toilet or, heaven forbid, a generator that could power lamps or heat. However, at this point I think we were just grateful for a barrier between us and the immediate danger outside.

Rochelle and I, being the ones still able to walk, gathered what we could from the sparse environment that could pass for bedding material. There were some dank and dusty curtains and a stained table cloth, plus random articles of clothing that looked scattered from hasty hands grabbing only the essentials. There were some bathing suits and decorative scarves, plus what looked like the crumpled remains of a prom dress.

I held it up to the light. Then I grasped it between two fingers and shook it in Rochelle’s direction. “Here you go, Ro. Something else for you to wear.”

She gave it a glance, before going back down to fixing the makeshift beds. “That is the single most hideous dress I’ve seen.”

I glanced at it. It’s puffiness and moss green color did look a bit strange, but what the hell did I know about girl’s clothes? To be honest, in my old world, the less the women had on, the better. “I don’t know, it just looks like a dress to me,” I said, holding it back to the light.

“Nick, you have it sideways.”

“I knew that,” I said defensively.

Ellis wandered over. He squinted at what I was holding. “What is that, a tent?”

I chucked it on the floor. “Basically.”

Rochelle snorted.

~~~~~

Later that night, the other three were huddled in the piles of cloth, sleeping. Despite its eyesore quality, that prom dress did provide a nice addition to the mattress. Though I don’t think the company that made it would feel too happy about what it was being used and praised as.

I hadn’t settled in yet. I decided to keep watch for a while, sitting by the door on an old crate, gun resting on my lap. Though the day had been exhausting, I just wasn’t tired enough to lie on that cement floor yet. I think we have been pampered by the last few safehouses, which had featured carpets. Oh, the luxury.

There was the occasional moan of a common outside as they wandered around in their nighttime stupor. I saw them just barely by the moonlight; bouncing off the walls, bouncing off each other. At these kinds of times I sometimes let myself imagine them as real people. What they used to be. I remember, every time, that the hundreds of creatures I killed every day used to have families, lives, minds. Then I mentally slap myself. I tell myself that they’re already dead, that whoever they had been is already gone, leaving only a corpse able to be mannequined by the virus. It’s thoughts like that which probably accounted for half the deaths of whoever was lucky enough to be immune.

I snorted softly to myself. Did I just think _lucky?_ What a choice of word.

There was a rustle behind me, and automatically I snatched up the gun. The terror gripped me absolutely for that one moment, the thought of an infected hiding in the safehouse was one that plagued me every time I stayed awake to guard. It hasn’t happened yet, but that fact alone makes me wonder if our number was up long ago, and it’s just waiting for a time where I fall asleep without my gun loaded. Anyway, that particular fun-filled event was saved for another night, I guess, because the rustle had been Ellis sitting up. His eyes were wide and fixated on my gun, pointing straight at his head. I lowered it slowly.

He exhaled. “Jeez, Nick, for a second I wondered if you were gonna pop me off anyway.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” I said in a low voice. Coach I didn’t have to worry about, but sometimes all it takes is a sigh or small cough to get Rochelle up. And Lord knows I didn’t need _that_ particular thornbush tonight.

Ellis gave a shrug and a small grin. “Whatever you say Nick, but sometimes those glares you give me are borderline homicidal if I talk too long.”

“They’re only like that when you talk too long and I have a fucking hunter on me. Which you seem to do alarmingly often.” I returned the gun to my lap. “What are you doing up, anyway?”

He rubbed his eyes, then ran a hand through his hair. The curly mop was completely flat on one side, making his head look lopsided. “I think I had a dream where Coach was wearing that prom dress. I woke up pretty quick after that.”

A grin was on my face before I could stop it. I faced the door. “You know, I think you have finally given me the answer to the question of what I would want to see less than a Tank in the safehouse.”

Ellis grimaced. “That ain’t all. He asked me for a dance. And he was wearing fake eyelashes.”

I bit my lip hard before facing him. “What did you do?”

Ellis shrugged. “What else? I screamed and shot him in the face.”

I rubbed a hand to my mouth, grinning away. “Ellis, to be honest, if I was faced with prom dress Coach I’d have done the same thing.”

Ellis sniggered. I turned back to the door, keeping an eye on the zombies outside. One of them puked down a wall, before collapsing against it.

“Hey, Nick?”

I turned to look at Ellis. “What?” Hadn’t he gone back to bed?

He scratched the back of his neck, then rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Listen, sorry if I was pryin’ the other day, asking about what you did b’fore all this. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s cool.”

That was certainly a shot to left field. “Uh, that’s fine, Ellis.”

He grinned, then laid back down. I turned away, again, sure that he’d finally gotten whatever he wanted off his chest. But a few seconds later, I heard him talk softly again. I didn’t bother turning again. But he talked anyway. He was like that.

“Because, you know, I didn’t want you to think that whatever you, uh, _did,_ beforehand…well, we wouldn’t hold it against you, Nick. Just sayin’.”

I didn’t say anything.

“’Night Nick.”

I still didn’t say anything. But his words continued to bounce around in my mind. When his nighttime sleep movements began again, they were still going through my head. I looked at Ellis in the dark, his rolling-around form. Then I looked at the other two, sleeping. And I don’t know what exactly I felt at that moment. Whatever it was, I don’t know why, but it made me want to kill something. That made me pause. The realization that I automatically pair any emotion to murderous violence…I am a seriously troubled individual.

Of course, I had completely lost my concentration after _that_ little conversation. Quietly, I got up, put the gun down precisely where my hand would rest, and arranged myself in a passable sleeping position. The cement was every bit as uncomfortable as I imagined it would be, and I started dreaming of a nice shag carpet before realizing how very sad that was.

It was just beginning to get light outside before I finally started to drift off. Right before I was pulled under, I caught myself smiling. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Coach in that green prom dress.

~~~~~

We were halfway to Rickman Center, about three days in, when things started to get hairy. I don’t know if it was because of the increase in people becoming infected as they flocked to the evac, or just plain bad luck, but it seriously felt as though God did _not_ want us to live. The zombies were so thick in volume that sometimes all it took was just a shot to the knee, or even a rock, just to get them to fall. Then the rest of their caring brethren would do the rest, crushing them with sheer mass. This was almost a plus, if it weren’t for the constant threat of doing the same ourselves.

And if we were going by the God-hates-us theory, I guess I couldn’t blame him for what happened to me that day. Lord knows I pretty much deserved it.

“ _NICK!”_ Rochelle screamed. I turned and grabbed the jockey by the scruff of its destroyed shirt and, using plain muscle power, yanked it off her back. It let loose a cacophony of hyena laughter in my face before jumping straight at me. I backhanded it, sending it far enough for me to have the time to shoot its head off with my shotgun.

“Thanks, Nick.” She smiled at me while trying to catch her breath, and I felt the sudden urge to grab a common and kill it by ripping its jaw from the head. “Sometimes it helps having…” I glanced back at her, just in time to see her eyes go round and terrified. She opened her mouth.

A bit too late.

Something slammed into my back and I fell forward. My neck snapped so hard that I honestly wondered if it had momentarily detached from my spine, and stars popped in my vision as I hit the concrete, knees, elbows and…well, face. The sudden blood gushing from my nose would normally be my primary concern, if it wasn’t for the adorable little munchkin that was currently using its claws to tear me a new back vagina.

“ _GET-IT-OFF-“_ I choked out through the blood in my mouth and nose, and the lack of air in my windless lungs. There was a series of cracks. Searing pain sliced across my shoulder blades and ringing filled my ears.

Through the haze I heard a muffled pop at close range, then another, and I felt a sudden weight crash onto my upper body, yanking at my torn skin. I gave a shriek that I choose to ignore and would continue to for the rest of my existence.

“Get th’ thing off him.” I heard Coach order. I felt the weight being dragged off, and just managed to suppress another manly bellow.

“Aw, shit.” Ellis’s tone was something I _so_ did not need to hear.

“Shut up, Ellis,” I groaned. “I don’t care how it looks, just get it fixed so I don’t bleed to death.” I felt a creeping warmth forming on my back, growing bigger with every moment.

“Give me…crap, give me a kit.” Rochelle’s voice was shaking. I felt a shot of pain as something hit my back, and Ellis gave a rare curse word as he shot the infected. My mind was going fuzzy, but I could still figure that attempting to bandage me in the middle of a horde was just not going to happen. They’d have to get me somewhere else. Or, I suppose, they could just say _to hell with it_ and leave me here.

“Keep the zombies off.” Coach yelled. I felt his hands under my arm, and before I could protest he yanked me to my feet, and proceeded to half drag, half carry me. I was doing a bad job of keeping quiet, because my goddamn Christ did it hurt. My vision winked, and things started to slew. My head lolled.

“Aw, hell Nick,” was the last thing I heard.

~~~~~

I was floating. Murmuring voices filled my ears, and I tried to block them out. God dammit, I was trying to sleep. There was pressure on a point in my back, and a throb of dull pain sharpened my senses. I couldn’t remember anything, yet, but my mind was waking, and the first trickles of memory started to seep in, like smelly oil.

My eyes opened a crack. Everything was blurry.

“ _Ellis, give me another towel, try to get one not covered in blood already. Coach, is that going to be enough to bandage this? Shit.”_

_“He’s going under again. Nick, dammit, stay awake. You ain’t leaving yet.”_

Like hell I wasn’t. I shut my eyes again.

_“Nick…wake up, man. Just hold on.”_

Sorry. I felt myself slip into the peaceful abyss again. I knew I was making this more difficult for them, this was the last thing they needed, to lose a fighter when we were so close to the evac. But it wasn’t like I wouldn’t slow them down if I lived anyway, what with whatever this injury was. In my hazed mind I wonder why they were even bothering.

~~~~~

Against my better judgment, I opened my eyes. From what I could see, it was dark.

As my vision adjusted and sharpened, I took stock of the rest of my body. With every beat of my heart I felt my back throb. I hadn’t had a chance to move yet, which I knew would be peachy once I gathered the strength. I felt pressure on my left side, and I felt relief that at least I wasn’t on my front. This position I could hold longer, effectively procrastinating the moment I’d have to move.

My fingers were curled into my chest; moving my thumb across it, I could feel the bandages that twined across. There was a lot. The irritation wasn’t lost on me; that must have been at least two kits worth. They could have used something else if the wound was that bad. There was too much else to worry about then blood poisoning from a dirty sheet or towel. Those bandages were needed for on the run jobs, and who knows how many I’d used up. Sometimes I wondered about the sanity of these people.

By that time my eyes were fairly adjusted. I could make out the shapes of my surroundings. I realized we were in another saferoom. That was strange; we had been at least a half a mile away from the nearest one when I was attacked. Was there another that hadn’t been on the map?

If not, it meant only one thing. The bloody idiots had carried me the entire way, half a mile of hordes that would only have been attracted to the scent of blood. The _morons._

If I ever got the strength to get up again, I would murder them.

There was a slight sound right next to me. I looked up, and saw Ellis, slumped over in a chair, head lolling as he slept, oblivious. It was obvious he meant to watch over me in case I kicked the bucket suddenly. But what could he do if I did? Mouth to mouth? _That_ I would defiantly murder them for.

I shifted, ever so slightly. Just that small movement sent harpoons of pain down my back, and I almost gasped. In fact, I couldn’t keep a small hiss from passing through my lips. It was quiet, but I saw Ellis jerk awake. He rubbed his eyes with a hand, lifting up his hat, which had fallen forward. I saw his eyes widen, and it was almost comical when he staggered back off his chair, practically falling off. I saw him shake the other two awake, and my noise of protest was probably taken as a moan of pain. Which, in retrospect, it was also.

“Nick, can you hear me?” Rochelle asked, her words alert but her voice betraying the raspiness of sleep. She reached towards me, and for a moment I panicked, wondering what she was doing to me before I realized she had only brushed my hair back.

“Nnnnghhh,” I replied winningly.

She sat back, a tired smile on her lips. Coach grinned and shook her shoulder. “Good job, girl. Looks like he’ll make it after all.”

“Scrw uff.” I muttered. I could die anytime I wanted. I just didn’t feel like it right then.

“Yeah, I think he’ll be fine.” Rochelle yawned and stretched. I saw darkened red all down her arms and had a moment of panic that she was bleeding before I realized it was probably my blood. She left my view, and I knew she was circling around to check out my back. I braced myself for more pain.

“Don’t worry Nick. I don’t think I’ll change this now.” Rochelle’s voice floated from behind me. “It only just stopped bleeding, I’m not going to do anything before it has a chance to heal a bit. I just hope the bandages don’t heal _into_ the wound.”

Oh, _joy._

Ellis knelt down, looking at me. His eyes were narrowed, and I knew he was making sure I didn’t drop off again. I raised my eyebrows at him, which made him grin. That made me feel better, I wasn’t used to him looking so grim. It didn’t feel kosher.

“How long was I out for…” I mumbled. It was weird to be so awake, yet so incredibly weak that all you wanted to do is fall asleep again. I felt so lethargic that I wondered if they had managed to get some drugs in me somehow.

“Uh…” Ellis scratched his head under the hat. I noticed blood on his hands as well. “At least a day, Nick. It was around noon when it happened, and it’s totally night now.”

“Hell…” I said dreamily. Good Lord, I was out of it.

“You died.”

I opened my eyes wider, as they just started closing again. “What?”

Ellis rubbed his eyes. “You died, Nick. For like, a few minutes.”

Well…that was something you didn’t hear every day. I tried to remember something, anything, after I lost consciousness. I dug deep, but I came up with nothing. I remembered waking up for a few seconds, then just…blank. I wondered if this was a bad sign or a good one in my personal standpoint. This ended up being too much thought for my current state, and I felt myself growing hazy again. I closed my eyes.

“Nick?”

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Hmmm…kay.”

~~~~~

Ellis managed to jam a chair under the handle of the door we had just rushed through, and a second later there was a barrage of bangs as one infected after the other met the now barricaded door. He leaned against it, keeping the chair in place and holding the doorknob just in case they actually kicked up enough brains to use it. The cheap wood rattled violently, and I knew we didn’t have long before the sheer mass triumphed.

“How many more miles?” Coach demanded, staggering towards Rochelle. She had yanked the now almost rag of a map out of her boot and spread it out on a filthy table.

“Only one and a half.”

“How long until the evac?

“Half a bloody hour.”

I leaned against the wall. My back wound was barely two days old, and Christ almighty did it ever remind me. Constantly. I was pretty sure the haphazard stitches Rochelle had managed to get on it before I called off the whole process had pretty much given up by now. I held my coat tighter around me in a bitter attempt to stem the wetness creeping down my back. “We’d make it if we were running at a normal pace, or even goddamn walking,” I jerked my head towards the shuddering door, “but with those delightful fucks I don’t know if we’ll make it halfway in that time.”

Ellis slid down the door, looking completely shattered. Rochelle put her head in her hands, and I saw Coach put a hand on her shoulder. I realized he would have been giving me the death glare of his, if he didn’t completely agree with me.

I glanced at them, one at a time. Then I looked out the window, at the crowd slowly growing at the entrance to the convenience store we had assembled in, on our final run to Rickman Centre. The amount of infected had been so huge that day that half our problem wasn’t actually killing them, but getting through the increasing piles of bodies that littered the ground so completely. My knees were permanently stained dark red from tripping over absolutely everything and falling to the ground with a snarl as my back sang with agony. It had taken us more than three hours to travel three miles.

But I looked at those things outside, stared at them. And one looked back. A small guy with a missing nose, wearing a shirt that had probably started out some other color, turned towards me, and looked me straight in the eye. And I was damned if I didn’t see it give me the smarmiest look of “ha ha, you guys suck,” that I had ever seen.  

Like _hell._

I pushed myself off the wall. “We are _not_ fucking letting those skittery shits screw us sideways. If I’m going to die, I’m not going to do it sitting here with my thumb jammed firmly in my asshole.” I strode towards the door, and Ellis stood up, still leaning against it.

“Nick, there’s no way we can make the evac. Hell, man, we barely got here!” The door bucked violently, and he pressed harder against it, wincing as it jarred his cracked ribs.

Coach rubbed his bald head, walking towards a wall. I practically saw the steam come off his scalp as he tried to think.

Rochelle snatched up the map and stuffed it unceremoniously in her boot again, then picked up her gun. “Nick, for once, I agree. There’s no point getting killed here when we could be killed closer to where we wanted to get.”

We all looked at her. She shrugged.

Ellis looked back at the door he was leaning against. I saw his face grow brighter, just a bit. “Aw, what the hell.”

He flipped around and, without any warning whatsoever _,_ kicked the door completely off its hinges.

I was proud of the name I bellowed out at that moment. But unfortunately, the roar of a hundred zombies completely drowned out my creativity.

The door, now off to its own devices, fell into the room as the infected pushed their way through. It was almost a _pouring_ motion, as the first ones tripped over the door, the second ones tripped over the first, and so on. Ellis didn’t waste time; using the door and a few zombie heads, he vaulted completely over the horde, climbing up and through the door, landing on the outside. I hesitated for only a second, fuming, before sending a wave of bullets into the crowd and running through to follow.

“You _asshat!”_ I snarled, spraying bullets around, getting the horde from the outside, as Coach and Ro worked from inside the room.

Ellis was fumbling around in a deep pocket of his tied overalls. Seconds later, there was a beeping noise as he drew back and arm and threw something, hard, in the opposite direction that we’d be heading. The zombies, heads turning immediately to the sound of the beeps, ran after the noise like kittens follow cream.

Within a few moments the door was almost clear. Coach and Rochelle ran out, taking out the last apparently deaf stragglers as they went, and we all started running just as the pipe bomb exploded in the distance. I grimaced, as I always did, as flecks of God knows what hit my suit.

How long have you been hiding that pipe bomb, hick?” I said, trying not to sound out of breath already. My back was white hot with pain now, but I didn’t let a peep loose.

“In all honesty,” Ellis panted, “I’d completely forgotten about it.” He turned to grin at me through the dust and dirt on his face, and I was overcome with the mixed feeling of wanting to either punch him or laugh.

We ran. We ran, hard. We didn’t stop for rests, not this time. Even Coach didn’t keel over. I don’t know if it was the slight overcast of clouds that obscured the sun that lessened the glare, or the lingering amount of zombies from Ellis’s forgotten pipe bomb…or the fact that it was the final goddamn hurdle, the last sprint. But we kept going. I put away my gun; it was too hard to keep reloading on the run. Instead I welded my bloodstained axe, swinging for heads and feet. It didn’t even matter if I killed them anymore; taking them down was good enough. We’d figured out long ago that as long as you ran fast enough, their goldfish memory would do the rest. Ellis was along my lines of thinking, using his bat in a way that’d make a Red Sox (Sock?) proud. Rochelle and Coach ran ahead, still using guns, roughing out the path. Coach had long perfected his method of shooting his automatic with one hand and getting his next clip ready with the other. Rochelle was just fast.

Rochelle lagged a bit so she was running next to me. “Cover me!” she gasped. Hopping on one foot, she managed to drag out the map from her boot. She ripped it open and tried to read it, flapping in the wind. From behind her, I heard a cough.

The tongue came, and I lunged. Grabbing it with one hand, I brought it down to the ground. The tongue wound around my arm like a boa, and already I could feel it tightening, tightening…with my other hand I brought down my axe, severing the slippery rope. From the darkness of a building I heard a hacking scream. I scrambled to my feet and kept running, chucking the end of the tongue in the face of a gaping common.

“Thanks, suit!” Rochelle flung out her arm, turning right at the last minute down a sidestreet. “Right, everyone! Right! It’s a shortcut!”

“Those be sweet words in my ears, girl, if they were true,” Coach choked.

“I’ve read this map enough to know. Move it!”

It was narrow enough that we had to run two by two, whether we wanted to or not. Our shoes slapped at the wet concrete. Since it hadn’t rained for at least a week, I tried to ignore this.

The end of the alley was near; I could see the mainstreet. It almost glowed, like the light at the end of the tunnel. I’d glanced at that map long enough to know that this shortcut was right next to the evac point; this was it. But then, a sound hit our ears that left us no option but to stop short.

“Son of a bitch.” Ellis whispered, as the keening sob echoed softly down the walls.

I could see the bitch. Sitting, about twenty yards ahead, right in the goddamn middle. She rocked back and forth, back and forth…like a metronome…like a pendulum. Tick tocking away the only seconds we had.

Of course, it was perfect. Just fucking perfect. It was the last battle, the boss fight, like a damn video game. Giving us what we absolutely did _not_ need at the last possible second. Because right then, I knew it in my bones, in my shaking legs, my torn back. This was our final shot. There wasn’t going to be a chance like this if we blew it. There was no way we could miss this, find another evac, and make it there alive. Not all of us. Not any of us. This was it. We weren’t going to make it.

And then Coach strode ahead, walking the last yards to the witch. I saw him slide out his katana, I saw him raise it high. And I saw him plunge it down, straight into the rising eye of the witch, driving it further through until the tip hit the cement. She slumped. He yanked out the sword, and she crumpled to the ground. Dead.

He turned and looked at us, and I saw a deep rage in his eyes and rigid form. “No way in _hell_ was that going to be how this ends,” he said, his voice shaking with anger and fatigue.

The sun burst from the thin clouds the same moment we came out of the alley. I kept my eyes down from the glare, and turned in tandem with the other three, towards the station. Towards our goal.

The evac was described as a _mayory type building; city hall type deal_ that was next to a _huge fountain with a naked chick and a dolphin on it._ I could see the fountain from a distance, and the building behind it. It was defiantly the place.

I almost cheered outright. Ellis gave a whoop of victory and punched a zombie right in the face in his exultation. I could see a fence around the place, haphazard at best, looking like they’d torn down schoolyard chainlink and spliced them together. Inside the fence, I almost caught a glimpse of what I didn’t dare to believe yet. People. The Uninfected. We made it.

And then, of course, I saw what they were doing.

Behind them was a helicopter. A big sucker, military, used probably for transport of soldiers and shit. And these people, the last ones I could see, were getting aboard. And shutting the door.

The sound of the propellers cut through the air. I realized that the main blades had already been turning, the sound drowned out by the roar of the infected. I felt my stomach plummet. I shot a glance at the sky, squinting at the sun, and saw what I knew I’d see. Helicopters. Flying away. This was the last one.

It rose in the air, dipping back and forth in its haste. In a hurry to get out of this hellhole.

Without us.

Again.

“ _HEY!”_ Coach bellowed. “ _STOP!”_

We all started screaming, running as hard as we could with our last bit of strength. The chopper was rising, not flying forward yet, but I knew once it cleared the buildings it’d be gone. I felt the old hopelessness seep through me like churning mud.

We reached the building, looking straight up. The massive blades whipped wind and dust around us from above, and the machine blocked out the sun, the edges glinting, like an avenging angel. We bellowed and waved our arms, but no one seemed interested in taking one last glance. _When in doubt, look up._ How about _down?_

Coach reached into the water of the fountain, and I wondered if he’d finally cracked completely before I saw him rear back, a large round rock in his hand. He threw the rock as hard as he could at the chopper, and I saw right then why he was a football coach. The rock went straight up, and I swear it was five feet from the underbelly of the chopper before arcing and falling to the ground with a _crack._

_“Dammit!”_ Coach swore. “I’m out of shape.”

His throw didn’t work. But right then, my dulled mind started firing again, even if at half mast. I ran to the fountain, and saw that the bottom was covered in round decorative stones. I snatched up one that was smaller then the one Coach had grabbed. I turned, the rock dripping in my hand, to Ellis. “Overalls! _Batter up!”_ I yelled.

Ellis stared at me with wide eyes, clearing thinking I’d lost it. Then I practically saw the _click,_ and he raised his bat to his shoulder. I popped the rock up, high so he’d have time to judge the swing.

His bat connected, low and up. He’d had the shred of sense to hit from below, almost a golf swing. And I had remembered, miraculously, about the time he and his buddy Keith had been playing ball next to a highrise building and Ellis had hit a flyball so hard that it had flown up and smashed through a window on the thirtieth floor…straight into the CEO’s framed university diploma.

The rock sailed straight up, hitting the bottom of the helicopter so hard I saw the dent.

A face appeared, looking out of the open door.

And waved.

The person disappeared, but I knew he’d seen us. They were coming back.

Rochelle burst into tears, right there. Coach slapped me on the back, roaring with laughter, nearly sending me face first into the ground and causing my back to burst into pain again. But it was fine. I’d get it fixed. We’d get fixed. It was, _finally,_ over.

I sent a full blown grin at Ellis, who was pumping his bat in the air in victory. He saw me and returned with his classic ear to ear smile, one that I’d seen this entire time but only now knew was laced with relief. Ellis loved the danger, I knew. But he liked living better.

I couldn’t deny that.

Ellis was practically buzzing with leftover excitement, twirling his bat and talking a mile a minute. I knew right then he’d be telling every detail of the last act to anyone who would listen. _Man, there was this one time me and my buddy Nick brought down a helicopter…_ I snorted. But I decided that was one story I’d let him continue. As long as he made sure to mention it was _my_ idea.

Ellis threw his bat in the air, flipping it before catching it on its end. What a damn showoff. There was a dark mass behind him, which I assumed was a dust cloud kicked up from the lowering chopper.

And then the arm of the Tank cut through the dust, smashing into Ellis’s side and sent him flying. His body flew faster than the rock had, colliding with the side of a building with the sound only a limp body hitting concrete can make. The wall cracked and shattered, collapsing completely.

 

Something tore through my gut. I opened my mouth to…I don’t know, do something. Alert the others, yell for help, throw up, _something._ Then the tank roared, and I knew it wasn’t necessary. If it even was in the first place.

Instinct brought the gun to my shoulder, and I emptied clip after clip into the gigantic infected. The other two followed my lead, but before long it was only my scrimped bullets that lasted, and I was the only one shooting. The tank swatted at my shots like irksome flies and roared its bass roar in fury.

And behind it, far back, I saw it. The line. The line of infected, running. They had caught up. And they did not want us to leave.

The _whup whup whup_ of the chopper drowned out the other sounds they were making, what _I_ was making. I didn’t exactly remember my mindset at that moment, but I knew I kept going over and over in my head _how hard does something have to hit a wall to collapse_ and _how hard can a person hit a wall and not—_

Something grabbed my arm. And I hope whoever was the owner of that hand counts their lucky stars every night that I didn’t have my axe out at that moment, because that hand would not have stayed company with the wrist if I had. As it was, I fought tooth and nail to get free. Needless to say…yeah, it wasn’t hard enough.

I felt myself be lifted from my feet, and I shouted. I shouted many things, some of the things I can’t remember but I wished I did, because it was colorful enough to paint a bloody mural. My torn back hit a dimpled metal floor, but I didn’t feel the pain. I didn’t feel anything but the terrible rip in my stomach.

I felt the weight as the machine lifted off again. There were shouts and clanks as feet ran over the metal floor. I laid there, unmoving, my blood throbbing behind my eyes as I stared unseeing, shocked, at the commotion above.

“ _Nick!”_ A female voice. A hand on my arm. Rochelle. I looked up at her terrified face. That brought me back a bit. “ _Ellis, where is he?”_

She hadn’t seen. _She hadn’t seen._ “He—“ I scrambled to my feet. And nearly fell over. We were up in the air, banking to the right. I staggered over and grabbed the first arm I encountered. A big guy, wearing faded army fatigues. “ _We have to go back!”_ I yelled over the wind whipping though the open door. I think I would have yelled anyway.

“What?!” The guy looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “There is no way in hell we can go back a third time. I’m sorry if you’ve left your cat, or wedding ring—“

If it was under normal circumstances, I would have been irritated. _Why did everyone think I was married._ But I didn’t even think of that, not then. Not then. “ _We left Ellis!”_ I screamed, every shred of my usual composure gone.

Coach used the wall for support as he stood and stared at me. Rochelle’s face drained all its color, and considering her skin tone, it was an accomplishment.

The man looked at me, stared into my eyes. He looked behind me, then shook his head. His face turned to one of overused, perfunctual sorrow. The grief of the stranger. “I’m sorry. We can’t.” He turned me, physically taking my arm and spun me towards the door, because at that moment I might as well have been full of sand and sawdust for when movement was concerned. “It’s too late.”

I looked out. We were over water now. Without realizing it, we had been running towards the coast of Georgia. I saw the edge of land, the evac point we had been running to, our last chance. And I saw that it was completely covered with the infected that had been in our pursuit. Among them I saw the tank we had failed to kill, along with two more that had shown up, probably attracted by the sounds of the choppers and the wave of common zombies. There was no way we could have stayed. There was no point in going back.

The man let go of my arm. I sensed him leaving, going towards the cockpit, firing orders to the other people to sit down, hold on, all that safety bullshit.

I fell to my knees. At that convenient moment, the helicopter had wavered, so the other people on the chopper would assume it was because I’d lost my footing. But it was more because I’d lost the strength to keep standing. I grabbed my head with my hands and stared out the door with my eyes blank and unseeing.

I honestly believe I could have tipped right out the door if it wasn’t for Coach’s hand on my shoulder. Its warm weight kept me steady, though I felt the tremors that went through it. I heard Rochelle’s trembling breaths behind me, muffled, as she tried to keep them quiet with her hands. I felt her sink to the floor as well, and a few seconds later join me at the door.

All three of us stared at the place we had left. And I knew that with every second we were realizing just what we had left behind.

~~~~~

Two men were at the back of the chopper, sitting on the floor. They were one of the only ones that bothered to be awake. The ride would be long, and Lord knows how long it’d been since the last time the people on the chopper had gotten a decent night’s sleep. But even the most fatigued could put their nose up at a bouncing dimpled metal floor.

Instead, they looked uninterestedly at the newcomers on the flight. “What’re they doing?” one asked.

“Dunno. But I guess if I had the energy or gave a rat’s ass I would want a last look at hell too.”

“Guess so.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 A group of people walked, slowly and purposely, down a filthy, viscera-strewn road.

Of course, they could only assume it had once been a road; it could just have easily been a dirt field that Tanks had used for pitching practice. Sizable chunks of concrete lay cracked on the ground, some of which covered remains that the marching group chose not to uncover just yet, while others had been smashed halfway through store windows or buried deep into the hoods of cars.

The strange troupe of men were dressed head to foot in some form of slipshod Hazmat suit, every one consisting primarily of orange plastic garbage bags and duct tape. Their faces were hidden behind goggles and standard hardware store gas masks. The whole ensemble wasn’t perfect—in fact, it borderlined on causing more harm than good, considering that the sound of the plastic bags could probably be heard from a block away—but the people believed them to hold the worst of infectious fumes at bay. Whether they did or not remained to be seen, but as many people learn, some of life’s best results stem from the power of wishful thinking.

“How long do we have?” a man with pink swimming goggles called. He waved his weapon—a sharp metal piece that originally could have been the leg of a ladder—to get the attention of the person leading the group.

The leader, whose leadership was based solely on the fact that he was the only one with a gun, checked his grungy watch—the grunginess, incidentally, being older then the infection’s reign. “The chopper guy said we had ‘til three. He also said to make damn sure that anyone we found weren’t a zombie before takin’ them with us.”

“Look in their eyes, I’m guessin’?” Pink Goggles said, squinting his own, trying to focus through his foggy lenses. “Why do we only have until three? It ain’t like the zombies go by a schedule.”

“Nah, they don’t. It’s not like there are much left, anyhow. But the guy said he’d taken his last aspirin three hours ago, and they only last about five. He said there was no way he was flying through a headache.” The leader scratched his head. He’d put his favorite hat, backwards, over the plastic bag he had covering his scraggly hair.

“I hear takin’ too much of that stuff gives you acid reflux,” another guy piped up. He’d tied a lime green band around his head, in a solid effort to give himself originality.

“Maybe that’s what makes a Spitter,” Pink Goggles said, barring the ladder leg across the back of his neck and resting his arms on each end.

“So you’re saying the cure, all along, was Tums?” asked a fourth guy, who was wearing a cowboy hat that looked half-chewed, and probably was.  

 That quieted them all for a few minutes as they contemplated this.

“My ex-girlfriend always had heartburn,” Green Band spoke up meditatively.

“Yeah,” Cowboy Hat said with a grin, nudging Green Band with his wooden cudgel, “but you always knew she was a witch!”

They all chuckled appreciatively at the joke. Cowboy Hat let out a honk like a feeble bicycle horn.

“Hold it, guys,” Scragglehat said, holding up a scarred hand. “Quiet down, now. Do y’all hear that?”

They all fell silent. And they all heard, in the distance, somebody stumbling over broken concrete.

“Do you think it’s one of _them?”_ Green Band ventured, trying to sound cavalier and failing when the last word qualified as a dog whistle.

“Dunno,” Scragglehat replied. He cocked his gun warily. “Don’t attack until I do, though. Even if it looks like a zombie. Half the survivors look worse’en a common nowadays.” He paused. “If it’s one of those big mother truckers, I think it’s okay, though.”

“Unless it’s Arnold Shwartziwhatever.” Pink Goggles said.

“Shoot anyway,” Cowboy Hat said grimly.

The scuffling noises drew closer. Fingers tightened on weapons. Scragglehat, walking forward slowly, peered into the gloom of a side alley.

Without warning, a figure half stumbled, half fell over a huge chunk of concrete, directly in front of them. They all jumped backwards in shock, brandishing their weapons, though at their distance the effort was quite pointless. Scragglehat directed his gun at the figure, which by that time had collapsed onto his knees.

Scragglehat stared at the slumped form over his gun. He squinted. “Hey,” he said slowly, “ _hey_ —hold on, guys, I think…I might _know_ him.” He lowered his gun and jogged to the person on the ground, who was clutching his ribs. “Hey, man, is that you?” Scragglehat couldn’t believe his eyes. Of all the odds in the world…

“Lookin'…for…” the man on the ground gasped. He was either injured or out of breath. Possibly—most likely—both.

“Hey, radio the chopper, we gotta get him help,” Scragglehat knelt down next to the man. Last time he’d seen him, a hunter nearly tore him to shreds. Looks like he hadn’t fared much better since they’d separated. “Listen, man, you can’t look for anythin’ in your condition.”

The man couldn’t answer; he just groaned and hugged his own abdomen. Scragglehat prayed the chopper was fast. Sometimes people were allowed to come back and search for survivors—or closure, since a body was usually all that could be found of lost love ones. Scragglehat lead a party every week, and yet this was the first person he’d found in a while that was still moving and not trying to bite his face off. It was possible he had been part of a search party and had somehow gotten left behind.

“Is he on his way?” Scragglehat asked Green Band urgently, who nodded, looking bewildered as he stuffed away the walkie talkie. Scragglehat turned back. “Hey, man, don’t worry, chopper’s comin’.” He shook the man’s shoulder and grinned. “I mean, ‘snot like you haven’t been through worse, right?”

The man looked up at him, still clutching his ribs, with pained gasps hissing through clenched teeth.

The sound of a helicopter grew louder overhead. Wind whupped all around them as it slowed down, preparing to land on the tiny patch of uneven street. Smaller bits of crumbled concrete danced across the cracks in the blacktop as the aircraft touched down on the destroyed road.

_“”GET TO DA CHOPPA,””_ Pink Goggles bellowed gleefully. Cowboy Hat looked about two seconds away from clocking him.

 

 

If you asked me how I felt the first day away from zombie-filled hell, I wouldn’t have answered. However, there is the good possibility that I would straight up deck you.

It wouldn’t be anything personal.

In all honesty, even if I asked myself, I wouldn’t be able to answer. For the life of me, I couldn’t tell you how long the helicopter ride was, or what questions we had to answer (or in my case, ignore completely), or even what level of medical treatment we had to go through before deemed fit for the human masses. Come to think of it, I supposed I could have been drugged with painkillers that jacked my memory. Though I don’t see why they’d waste drugs on someone like me. Fuzzy recollection or no, I can be pretty sure I acted like a right bastard.

I found out later that the chopper took us from Rickman Center to another center about a hundred miles off. It was a place partway underground, with rows and rows of barbed wire fencing and tall towers of bare scaffolding that served as watchtowers. It was one of the many truly safe points in the country, all government owned and run. Of course that would be the case. I’m surprised they didn’t demand two pieces of photo ID before letting us into the center. I wouldn’t have been able to help them if they did; I’m pretty sure I’d chucked my wallet at a Jockey when it was riding on Coach’s head at some point.  

The first thing I was aware of, when I woke up on a worn, army style cot, was that they’d taken my jacket.

They’d taken. My jacket.

They’d _taken my…_

Aw fuck it, they could have it.

I sat up, pushing off a blanket that couldn’t be scratchier if it were made of pissed-off cats. My head pounded like a conga drum—I felt close to throwing up.

“Whoa, there, hon, you aren’t close to being fit for that yet,” a laughing woman’s voice came from the right. I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulder, which I resisted automatically. “Just lie down there, that’s it—“

“Where’s everyone?” I asked groggily. I pressed a hand to my throbbing temple, almost expecting some tiny monster to snarl and snap at my fingers before going back to gnaw on my brain.  

“I don’t know, hon. You came in with a group of people—you were separated depending on your state of wellbeing.” She gave a small, sad chuckle. “I mean, if anything can be described as that nowadays.”

I blinked; my vision kept going in and out. I shifted and was suddenly aware of the increase in bandages snaking around my chest. I put a hand in my shirt to feel them; no longer frayed and filthy—they’d replaced them.

“Lord knows how you managed with your back like that,” the woman said, a little wonderingly. I looked at her and saw that she was some sort of nurse; small, plain and brown-haired. Dressed in mismatched scrubs. “Those were some of the ugliest wounds I’ve had the pleasure of seeing. I lost count of the stitches.”

“I came in with people,” I said, shaking my head slowly to rid it of the muddiness. The muddiness didn’t leave, but it did ramp up the headache. “Big black guy, black woman, and…” I stopped. _Christ._

“I think I might know who you’re talking about,” the nurse said, oblivious. “They’re sleeping it off as well. Didn’t need as much medical treatment as you, though, so they should be up soon—” A howl came from behind her. She looked around, sighing. “That’d be Jeff. Broken leg. Though can’t see why he needs to do that, we’ve drugged him enough…” Still muttering, she gave me one last fruitless push on the shoulder before walking off down, as I realized, a seemingly endless line of cots.

As soon as she left I flung the blanket completely off my legs and swung them to the ground. My knees sang; I supposed the near constant meetings with the pavement didn’t agree too well with them. Standing up, I felt my back ache horribly, though not nearly as bad as when the wounds were gaping. My legs wobbled—I very nearly pitched right into a cart of medical supplies before catching myself.

I started walking down the line of cots in the opposite direction of the nurse, looking at each bed occupant. They were mostly asleep, except for one guy who looked pretty much dead, his fingers curled in claws on the blanket and gaze javelining up blankly at the ceiling. I looked away and started walking quicker. So quick, in fact, that I slammed right into Rochelle.

“Ow! Watch where you’re—Nick!” She grabbed my arm, as though expecting me to bolt the moment someone recognized me. _Excuse me, Rochelle, I don’t_ bolt. _I subtly edge out of sight._ Then _I bolt_. “Well, still, watch where you’re going.”

She looked remarkably unhurt, and was wearing new, clean clothes. Well, I’ll just assume they were new; God knows where they actually got them.

“Ro,” I said. Then, ingeniously—“Hey.”

“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked, seemingly just realizing the fact. “My God, Nick, half your back’s in stitches.” She tried to steer me back, but again, I resisted.

“Don’t bother, Rochelle.” I jerked out of her grip. “I’m not lying back down in that shitty bed. Where’s Coach?”

“He’s back down there,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, “talking to some military guy.” She seemed to understand that I wasn’t going back to bed unless I was physically strapped down. Instead, we began walking down the row again, back in the direction she came. I wondered why she was even walking down the row in the first place, before realizing she’d most likely been going to see me. Probably planning to enjoy the last moments she had with me while I was unconscious and, consequently, on my best behavior.

Though the sound of the center was loud, the silence between me and Rochelle was thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Instead of bringing up the topic both of us were determinedly avoiding, I asked her about the place we were in.

“It’s a permanent safepoint. It’s been here ever since the beginning of the spread. There are more, all around the country. They move people from point to point, until they get to Canadian stations. It should be a lot safer there; it’s October, it’ll be cold soon.”

She stopped talking when she noticed that I was barely listening.

We found Coach just finishing talking to some spitshined army guy with a bald head he probably buffed every morning. Coach saw me and Rochelle over the guy’s shoulder. “Hey, Nick, you’re up!” He nodded goodbye to the military guy, who walked off, heels clip-clopping on the dull linoleum. Coach came over to us, limping slightly on his bad knee. “How you feeling?” he asked me, raising a hand to presumably put on my shoulder before catching himself and scratching his neck instead.

I shrugged, which contradicted itself by sending spears of pain down my back.

All three of us stood there for an abnormally long time, not saying a word. Though, it wasn’t an awkward silence so much as a necessary one. I tried thinking of something to say, but I was absolutely blank. Apparently so were they. I mean, what the hell could we say? Three out of four ain’t bad?

“Nick…” Coach murmured. I tore my gaze from the pillow on an empty cot I’d been studying in earnest. “They have a station over there that gives out clothes. Yours are pretty much shot.”

Yes, they were pretty much shot. And scratched. And bitten. And bled on. I looked at him, deduced that he had nothing more to say, then set off in the direction he’d gestured. I supposed it was just as well. It wasn’t like we were going to accomplish anything standing around not saying a goddamn thing. To be honest, any necessary thing we needed to discuss is something I’d be perfectly happy to put off.

There was a line of people at the clothes station, a station that was pretty much just a worn beige plastic table covered in overused boxes. At least half of the people in the line were mud-spattered and bloodstained from minor injuries, others probably wanted extra pajamas or a better fitting shirt or something more fucking fashionable. I planted myself at the end of the line, scowling at anyone who looked at me, and at anyone who didn’t. People who did see me gaped; despite the bloodstains on some of the clothes, they could dine in the Queen’s court in comparison to my sorry state. They’d be even more discomfited had I told them the shirt had once been blue.

When I got to the front, about a half hour later, the woman behind the battered table raised her eyebrows. “Well, you’ve been living it rough, haven’t you?” she said, her eyes flicking on the brown on different brown color scheme I had going on, between the tears that went parallel with rips in my skin.

“Nah, it’s just a little stained, you hardly notice it.” I said sardonically. She gave me a touchingly familiar look that said _watch it, smartass._

She gave me some jeans and a T-shirt, along with some sneakers with mismatched, broccoli-topped laces. I eventually bugged her enough to give me a dress-shirt instead; I didn’t want to give anyone a heart attack.

I managed to find a bathroom, though it was so filthy it seemed that people assumed the entire room to be a toilet and simply shat where they pleased. After I’d changed, I threw my old clothes in the crammed garbage can. If I was able to flush them down the toilet I would have, but it looked blocked already. A lonely scrap of cloth swirled gently in the overflowing bowl of dirt-brown water.

 

 

The next week passed with the heavy, cramped feeling of waiting in an airport. Which, I supposed, it basically was. People got hustled off in groups of ten to be flown to the next spot. Considering the hundreds of people and the fact that there was one flight a day, at most, we were going to be there for a while.

The food wasn’t bad, unless you had something against cans. Utensils were a commodity. I’d been wandering the center on the second day there and passed two grown men who were violently scuffling, though were being paid little attention to. I guess it was a common occurrence. I wondered idly what the reason was, before seeing something silver fall to the ground from the tangle of flailing arms. I walked over and saw that it was a spoon.

Needless to say, the fight was short-lived once they realized the catalyst was missing. That night, Rochelle was flattered, but slightly baffled, when I handed her a rusty, cheap spoon. “For special occasions,” I’d explained. She looked at me, a little worried. But she’d pocketed the spoon. 

People were expected to help out as much as they could. Rochelle and Coach had gotten into it. Ro spent time with wailing children, trying to make them wail less often. Coach helped with moving the injured and deceased; one in the door, the other out. I wandered around, pretty much doing shit-all, and planning on keeping it that way.

On the third day, I saw an old, fat man breathing heavily and chewing something as he waddled around. He’d brushed roughly by a nurse who carried an armload of fresh bandages. They fell to the ground, rolling impossible distances, and she looked up at the guy with a face of mixed fury and exhaustion. He’d glanced at her, then continued walking, stuffing something else in his fat mouth.

I walked by him, slamming right into his gelatinous side. He let out a furious burble, and I saw chip crumbs shoot out his mouth. “Sorry,” I said, staring right into his tiny eyes. “Didn’t see you.”

He shuffled off, mumbling. Feeling chivalrous after just seeing the personification of groin sweat, I knelt and helped the nurse pick up the bandages.

As I walked off, I checked out what I managed to take from the man’s pocket. Two chocolate bars. Basically gold in this economy.

I gave them to Coach.

 

It’s curious how much a single event can stretch time. Like living in the close up shot of a telescope before that singular moment when it’s flipped around, causing everything to slow down and become insignificantly small in comparison. To think that a day hacking at infected faces and running through impossible heat held the same amount of hours as a day in the center was almost inconceivable. I go to bed feeling like I have been awake for a week. And even then, my mind takes about another week to shut the hell up. It’s amazing how a mind can have the intellect of a grown man, but for all the control you have over it, you’d believe you’re dealing with a very obnoxious child.

Despite the hours of silent solitude, I tried my hardest not to think about that final day. Because that’s how I thought of it. The final day. That last day. It wasn’t a beginning, and all that fancy wall-hanging bullshit. It was a goddamn end.

But I tried not to think about it. The thing is, my mind always sucked at listening to my head.  

 

“When’s the next search party leaving?” I asked a guy. He’d looked official. I took my chances.

“Uh,” the guy scratched his large ear with a ballpoint pen, looking at his clipboard like it was the one who’d asked him. “Not this week.”

“I didn’t say when it wasn’t, I asked when it _was.”_ Dipshit.

“Not sure, sir. Maybe next Friday.”

A week and a half. I glared at him, though he remained lost in the ruminations of his clipboard. “Why the hell aren’t they going this week?”

“I don’t know, man.” He ticked a tiny, pompous checkmark before the pen went back to the undying itch on his ear. “Why? You looking for someone?”

“Does it matter?”

“Where’d you last see them?” Scratch scratch.

I felt like grabbing the pen and jamming it deep in his ear canal. “On the wrong end of a zombie horde, prickstick.”

The guy shrugged, finally looking up from his stupid clipboard. “In all honesty, man, it’s more like roadkill service now.” He looked closely at me and seemed to read the expression on my face. He hastily continued, holding up a pacifying hand. “Look, I’m sorry man, I really am. But think of it this way; it’s probably best you don’t see whoever it is now.”

I found it strangely cruel that the first time in weeks I didn’t have a gun in my hand was also the first time I truly wanted to kill someone.

 

I rolled on my side, staring into the grey gloom. The center had nearly no windows, therefore all was pretty much black when they shut the lights out. Which they did at around nine. I didn’t know why they assumed we were all in grade school. My best guess is that it gave the officials time to consume all the liquor they never let us have and to laugh at our pain.

From a few cots down I heard the sound of a woman whispering a prayer. It took all of my personal restraint not to snort loudly. It never made any sense to pray in my view; when you think of the countless times things go exactly the opposite of what you wanted, you start wondering if God uses prayers just to figure out how to most effectively screw you.

I suppose God is clever, if anything. He ignored me, and waited. Because there’s no point in punishing someone like me—either I already hate what I have, or I don’t give a damn when I lose something. It’s an attitude that kept me in control of my life. If you treat everything in life like chips in a poker game, then you can keep life in a balance, more or less. Unless you plainly suck at playing. Then you’re pretty much up the creek. That’s how people who stare at you with dead eyes as they scan your bananas come into being.

Then, I suppose, God finally got bored, and dealt me the lowest hand he could.

_Give and take, right Nick?_

I moved onto my back again. I stared at the darkness. A few weeks ago, sleeping in a freezing safehouse, I would have considered a bed with more than a door between me and the zombies to be paradise.

Without effort, I thought back to the details of those nights. Sleeping on concrete, waking up to feeling like your back had upped and left during the night. Until you attempted sitting up. I remembered the stench that seemed to stick to everything, and trying to sleep through the sound of the Infected hurling on the road outside. And yet, despite plain reason, I wished I were back. Because I could also remember being with people who had my back no matter how hurt, how distant, and how bitchy I was. I could spend a lifetime patting myself on the back for surviving zombie-filled hell, for literally killing my way out of a nightmare, but the true feat overcome was something even I couldn’t do; deal with me, every day.

Then again, maybe I have this wrong. Maybe God _is_ on my side. After all, what did I want, from the day we missed that first chance of escape? I just wanted to survive. It didn’t matter how; I wanted to live, no matter who I left in my wake.

Which I did, didn’t I? I’d gotten out. Just what I wanted.

 

_I’d woken up to the sight of Ellis strutting around the safehouse, wearing my jacket and barking insults to inanimate objects. Within a minute, I’d gone so far as to threaten him with a loaded shotgun, while assuring him that the single thing protecting him was the jacket being in the way. He eventually got my meaning and returned the coat with a grin. I’d shrugged it on, adjusted it, then walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder._

_“Ellis, do not scare me like that again,” I said in a serious voice. “You could have died.”_

_He clapped a hand on my shoulder as well and spoke in the same solemn tones. “Well, Nick, how can I say I survived the apocalypse if I didn’t do the most dangerous thing I could?”_

_“Taking my coat was crossing the line to foolhardiness,” I replied, while the sounds of a rampaging Charger echoed outside._

_“No,” he said, sheepishly holding up something in his other hand, “accidentally rippin’ off a button was.”_

_Rochelle and Coach woke that morning well rested, anticipating instant coffee, and enjoying the sight of Ellis leaping over furniture in a desperate attempt to avoid my crowbar._

I jammed the heels of my hands in my eyes. In the only way I knew to help me keep control, I began cursing everyone—everyone who had a hand in the infection, everyone who had succumbed to it, and everyone who had the goddamn nerve to survive. I didn’t care if people heard my broken whispers—for all I cared, they could assume I was praying. Both produced the same goddamn result.

 

Some kid was yanking on his mom’s hand, whining loudly. The mom, who had three deep scratches half healed on her cheek, looked about ten seconds away from a nervous breakdown. The kid gave his loudest wail yet—it echoed across the center, sounding like someone just harpooned a cat. The mom, closing her eyes briefly, knelt next to her bratty kid and began speaking in low tones, holding his hand.

Watching from one of my usual spots, leaning against a wall near a (broken) water fountain, I felt my lip twitch. From what I remember, my mother wouldn’t hold my hand and talk to me if I was being annoying. She’d hold my hand for the moment it took to gear up a sharp slap to the face. Then she’d tell me to go outside in the street and “f’cking amuse yourself.” I think I was five then. Ah, memories.

Some middle aged, grizzly guy in dirty track pants was staring at me from a small distance away. I ignored it for as long as I could, before it began being incredibly irritating on top of slightly creepy. I gave him a look, which I left for his imagination to translate.

To my surprise, he started making his way towards me, roughly shouldering past people. I saw him accidentally hit the small kid on the back of the head as he passed, which cut him off in mid-screech as he clutched the area, shocked. I very nearly grinned at the guy, who finally made it within talking distance.

He pointed at me, giving a yellow half-smile. “Is this who I think it is?” he asked loudly, with a voice scarred from what was probably a lifetime of smoking.

I looked at him, my face impassive, though my mind was whirring, trying to place the guy. “Depends who you think I am,” I replied guardedly.

He laughed, sounding like an ancient exhaust pipe. “Ah, always the suspicious one, they said that ‘bout you. ‘Spect that’s what makes you such a _con’isseur_ in the biz, eh? Ha!” He slapped my shoulder before I could react. “Sure helped in this, eh? No fucking pansy coulda made it outta this shit…”

I stared at him. A flabby face (with cheeks rosy enough to suggest that he hadn’t really been suffering that much), watery eyes, weak chin that flowed smoothly into his collar, leaving no visible neck…a face utterly forgettable. But as he talked, I realized, with growing apprehension, who this guy was.

“Hugh, right?” I asked, cutting him off completely. “You worked for RK when I did that drop off for him.”

He laughed again, though he looked a bit affronted. “He remembers! Long time no see, Nickie boy.”

“Yeah,” I said shortly, looking around, trying to find a reason to cut the conversation short.

“Goddamn tragedy, this.” Hugh said morosely, looking around as well. “Makes good ol’ green cash worthless. I’d be richer havin’ a bank fulla fucking toilet paper.” He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “RK’s thinkin’ up some new ideas, though. Might even be an upside—people are desperate and panicking, best time for business, ‘specially since there’s not much chance gettin’ busted.” He nudged me—I wasn’t expecting it, and very nearly attacked his hand out of habit. “We could always use more people, Nick. RK always liked your style. And he ain’t one to give compliments lightly.” He nodded importantly, as though he just gave me the offer of a lifetime.

“Thanks, but no,” I said abruptly, not even bothering to look at him. I’d just spotted Rochelle and was wondering whether her getting me out of this conversation quicker was worth her seeing who I was talking to.

He looked scandalized at my answer. “Nick, I don’t think you realize—“

“I’m not interested,” I said quietly, keeping an eye on Rochelle, praying that she didn’t see me. I looked away for a moment, and stared deep into Hugh’s small, watery eyes. “But let’s make a last deal. You don’t tell anyone that you met me, and I won’t give you a reason to sleep with one eye open.”

He blinked very rapidly. “Well…I…” he sputtered. His mouth opened and closed silently for a few more moments before he finally turned around and hurried away. I watched him disappear into a crowd of people, feeling strangely light.

“Hey Nick.” I turned to see Rochelle walk up, head tilted curiosity. “Who was that you were talking to?”

“No idea,” I replied. “Guy just wanted the time.”

 

It was the day of our flight to the next point, a full two weeks after we’d arrived. I’d met up with Rochelle and Coach purely by accident while walking aimlessly along the perimeter of the center.

Without a word, we continued walking.

In a way, it almost felt like coming home. This was natural, for us; walking through crowds, not talking—I almost expected the people to begin snarling and running toward us, and I felt almost uncomfortable not having a weapon in my hand.

I didn’t know what I was going to do after we reached safety, or whatever was closest. I supposed Rochelle and Coach had lives to begin building again; normal, respectable, decent. They needed to heal and help heal. I couldn’t begrudge them that.

But I also don’t think I’d be able to join them. I wasn’t like them; the very idea was laughable. I couldn’t help people. 

I’d have to leave. I wouldn’t give excuses—hell, I probably wouldn’t even say goodbye. Whatever they thought of me was fine; I’m sure there’s nothing they could possibly think up that I didn’t deserve, for one thing or another. If I were able to push aside the copious amounts of bullshit reasoning in my head I suppose, deep down, I knew that if I hung around, I would witness the full effects of people who were no longer forced to stay with me. And if I were to lose the last of the only people I cared about, then I, at least, wanted to do it on my own terms.

“What the hell is that?” Coach suddenly said, slowing down and peering through a throng of people. “People linin’ up for something over there.”

“Maybe it’s the line to get on the helicopter,” Rochelle suggested.

“Can’t be, it ain’t until four.” Coach said, though he sounded a little worried.

Without voicing a suggestion, we all fell into the unorganized, jostling line. It wasn’t like we had anything better to do.

It didn’t take long. Before I even started complaining (out loud) we were standing in front of one of the standard scuffed plastic tables. A few people were behind it, chatting amiably amongst themselves. Another table was manned directly behind the first, servicing a line running on the opposite side. Aside from the clothes and food stations, I hadn’t seen any other formal services in the center.

“Hey,” the guy behind the first table said, grinning a gapped smile—one of his canine teeth were missing. He was poised over a laptop that rivaled the table in terms of shabbiness. “You puttin’ in a name or lookin’ for one?”

When people make no sense in my view, I will automatically assume they’re fucking with me. I glared at the guy, who now looked faintly alarmed. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Well, yeah…” He looked around helplessly, as though looking for a way to say _because you’re in the goddamn line I obviously thought you knew the fuck why_ without sounding impolite.

“What do you have going on here?” Rochelle jumped in, somehow managing to smile at the guy and give me the stink eye at the same time. Sometimes I doubt that she’s human.

“Well see, ma’am,” the guy said, relief in his voice, “it’s a system that aids people in findin’ other people.” Obviously we all looked lost, because he continued quickly. “See, people get separated, and no one keeps phones nowadays, so this is an easier way to find people you’ve lost.” He spun his laptop around, looking proud. “I figured hey, why not tap into something we all are used to using, and that’s still around to use?” He started pointing at parts of the screen enthusiastically. “I made a website—it ain’t perfect, it still needs work—but here, see, you can put in people your lookin’ for, like a personals ad. And then, here, you can put your own info, and whoever can look you up and see if you’re still kickin’ around.”

He twirled the laptop back to face him and started pecking at the keyboard. “It’s just startin’ up, but I figure it’ll catch on soon. A buddy of mine thinks it’ll go nationwide—he’s already usin’ it to find some people.” He looked at the screen, talking to it avidly. I had a feeling we could have left a while ago, and he’d still be talking. “I’m thinkin’ of putting in a separate section for just cadavers. Some people want closure, you know? And it ain’t real fair puttin’ the dead names in the section where you usually find the livin’.” He looked up at us. He looked almost shocked that we were still there. “So, uh, any of you want to look up a name or two?”

Coach gave a few of his old friends, then some of his students. The guy tapped them in and shook his head somberly. Rochelle asked about some of her old coworkers, and got the same result. “It’s okay, though,” the guy said earnestly. “There’s barely anyone in here. You guys would probably do better over at the notice boards. That’s where most put their info.” He pointed towards a row of stand alone bulletin boards that I hadn’t notice before, probably because they were completely surrounded by people.

Coach and Rochelle both headed for the boards. I was just about to follow, figuring I’d stand at the back of the crowd, when I heard the guy call out. “Hey, buddy!” I looked around. He scratched at his patchy beard, smiling at me. “You never gave me any names. Anyone you wanna find?”

“No one I’d care to see alive,” I said flatly.

The guy stared at me, as though at a loss for words. Then, I realized his face was dawning with comprehension. “Hey, man, I think I know you.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

“Naw, man, I’d know you anywhere,” he said, laughing a little. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your fancy ass suit, but I never forget a face!”

I stopped short. I looked closely at the guy, who was now grinning from ear to ear. Holy shit. It was him, the guy I’d met on the mad dash towards that first evac point. Scragglehat. He was missing the hat, but it would forever be on his head in my mind. “Oh. Hey.” In a way, I was absolutely not surprised to see him alive. He seemed the type to avoid the flying acid of a Spitter purely because he’d bent to pick up a penny.

“Well shit, man, how’s it goin’?” He leaned back, as though gearing for a good chat. “Last I saw you were getting tore up by a hunter! Those things are bastards. My buddy always got hit with them—couldn’t even turn ‘round without one pouncin’ him the next second. They’re kinda like mosquitoes, aren’t they? Likin’ certain people.”

 Using the term “mosquito” when I still couldn’t bend down without the lacerations in my back tearing open seemed, in my opinion, a bit bold.

“Hey, listen man, if you can’t think of anyone, that’s cool. But you can still put your name in, here—“ he twirled the laptop around again. “See, some people might think different. You’d be surprised who looks for who.”

I glanced, uninterested, at the laptop. “I’ll pass. Let people who actually give a damn take up space.”

He blinked. “Well, the internet’s pretty much endless. I mean, we still find everythin’ we want, even though ninety percent of it is porn.”

I didn’t say what I should have said there—that ninety percent of the time porn is usually what people want. But I was too distracted. I’d only just noticed what Scragglehat had named the site. Across the top of the screen, in bold black letters, was “Keith’sList”.

“Keith’sList?” I asked, looking at him.

“Well, yeah,” he said guiltily. “Figured I was entitled.” He suddenly beamed. “ _Literally._ Get it?”

“Your name is Keith?”

“Yep.” He cocked his head. “I never told you my name? That’s weird. Usually it’s the first thing I say. My buddy Ellis said when we first met, I’d introduced myself seven times. I think he still forgot my name, though.”

I felt something explode in my gut. _Jesus H Christ._ “You knew a guy named Ellis?”

He gave me a strange look. “Yeah, man. He was the first one to put in names in Keith’sList.” He looked proud for a moment. Then he shrugged. “First to get diddlysquat, too, but we don’t think about that bit.”

“When did he put them in?” Before we’d all met? And who did he put in? His sister? His bastard of a father?

“Uh, I don’t know. Hey Ellis,” he said loudly, leaning back and hitting the guy manning the other table on the head. “When did you put your friends into the site?”

“Ow.” The guy turned around in the chair, rubbing the back of his head. “I dunno, Keith, few days ago. Why? Did you get anythin’?”

And then Ellis looked up and saw me, rooted to the ground, and his mouth fell open.

The telescope zoomed out again. I have never felt so unbalanced in my life. Like someone had flicked my feet from under me with a pole, then used the pole to crack me over the head. I’ve never felt so jolted, while also feeling so incredibly numb, as I did in that damn moment.

“This guy was asking. He’s the guy I told you about, too, who—“

“ _Nick!”_ Ellis all but yelled, leaping to his feet. Well, he struggled and stumbled to his feet—I just barely registered the crutches leaning against the table. “Man, I don’t believe it!” Ignoring his crutches completely, he launched himself over the table, sliding across like I’ve seen him do so many times over the hoods of cars—cars that would, incidentally, almost always end up having alarms.  Keith snatched his laptop out of harms way, clutching it to his chest and looking horrified.

Ellis almost went to hug me but seemed to think better of it when he realized that I was, in fact, me. Instead, he extended a hesitant hand, but looking like it cost him plenty to keep things formal. I stared at his offered hand, then looked back up at him. Well, _fuck_ that. I grabbed his arm and yanked him toward me, into a hug that I hoped would _hurt like hell_.

“What the goddamn fuck, Ellis?” I snarled, sounding angrier then I’ve ever been. Though I have to admit, I was having a tough time getting words out. “How the _hell_ are you alive?”

“Jeez Nick.” He sounded more shocked then I felt. He also sounded strangled, which I realized was more due to his not able to breath then any suppressed emotion. However, when I finally let him go, he was beaming. He looked me up and down. “Nick, you aren’t wearin’ your suit! Man, that’s a sight I thought I’d never see!”

I glared at him, wanting to shake him, but also wanting to keep him in my vision, to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. “ _How,_ Ellis? We left you in a literal pool of infected!” And wreckage. And probably his own blood. It wasn’t goddamn possible.

He thought for a moment, then shrugged, grinning away. “I guess they were too damn lazy to move the chunks of concrete off me.” His face, I noticed, was riddled with half-healed lacerations and bruises.

I just couldn’t bring myself to ask my next question, as it’d probably result in an answer like _well, I guess the Tank punched me so hard that the concrete was smashed into nonlethal rubble._ I was just deciding whether to hug him again or punch him—it was honestly a pretty close match—when I heard my name being called behind me.

“Nick! Who’re you talking to?”

Rochelle. She sounded pissed. I guess she’d been looking for me.

“We gotta get going, Nick, they aren’t going to wait for us, you know!—”

I’m not one to work for an argument when I don’t need one. So instead of offering any explanation, I simply grabbed a bewildered Ellis and pushed him in her direction.

“What—“ It took her a moment to recognize him. Then she gave a squeak that was so adorably female that I will hold it against her for the rest of her life. She flung herself on Ellis, who laughed and hugged her back, though I could see his injured leg buckle slightly.

“Nick.” I saw Coach a few paces behind Rochelle, looking at the scene with a frown as he approached. “Is there something I’m missing?” He nodded towards Rochelle, who by that time was sobbing uncontrollably into Ellis’s neck. Then, it seemed to click, and he gave a roar of joy and went to join Rochelle in what I hoped was rebreaking every one of Ellis’s ribs, the goddamn son of a bitch, dumb shit _bastard_ …

“I never thought I’d see you smile, man,” Keith said from the table, staring at me with all the grace of a five-year-old staring at a war amputee. “Then again, I never thought I’d see you alive again, either.”

I laughed, adding to my own surprise. Justifiably, I was probably in shock. That is the explanation I’m sticking by, because there’s no other way in hell I’ll admit to ever wearing the smile I had on my face that day. “On the other hand,” I said to Keith, “I think I always knew I’d have to meet you, eventually.”

“Hey, wait…” Keith looked as though he was having an epiphany. He pointed at me excitedly. “You guys are the ones Ellis put in the database, aren’t you?”

And it was then that I finally believed this man could, indeed, find it prudent to deep fry a turkey.

“Man, you guys are all Ellis could talk about!” Keith shook his head, sighing like a man who had been through the wars. He leaned wearily against the table. “I don’t think you understand—like _every second minute_ he’d have a story about what you guys did.” He glared at me with an unfathomable look in eyes. “ _Every second minute._ ”

“I can’t imagine,” I replied, deadpan.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys--thanks for reading my corny little story! I remember writing this years ago, sitting in my bed at three in the morning and tapping away, a big goofy smile on my face. Ah, over-the-top sentiment. Gotta love it.   
> To digress a little, I think that's the sweet spot you want to get to with writing. That point where all else falls away--exhaustion, hunger, the need to pee--because at that moment, you are one with your story. Whether it's a novel, an essay, or a small fic you never intend to publish, that point is reachable and so, so worth it.   
> So I just want to say, whatever you're working on--you, reading this now--keep going. Just today I heard about a professor in the writing department of my university who discourages students from their writing if it isn't in her own style, and it burns me up. My heart aches when I think of the young writers who look at red marks on their papers, who read dismissive comments with tears gathering in their eyes, who shove stories in boxes deep in a closet and never allow themselves to try, ever again, because what was the point? "My writing is embarrassing, and childish, and unrefined. It's bad."   
> To them I say, so what? That you're critical of your writing only shows that you can see your possibility to grow as a writer. Many cannot, and won't improve. And just because your writing is not someone's cup of tea does NOT mean the writing is bad. Believe me.   
> So write. Please. Don't let a single comment throttle your spirit. Don't assume that the person with the fancy tongue has the solitary answer. Pull your stories from the box and write until the sun blots the stars at dawn. Write until that smile appears on your face or the tears fall. Just write. You have worlds gathering in your fingertips. Let them out.


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